by PURUPUSS RATED FRT

Chapter 6: A Quiet Confrontation

Virgil slid the wall panel back into place and cast a critical gaze about his studio apartment. Maybe it could have done with a bit of a clean, but then to his eye it wasn’t untidy either. Besides, what with work, extra-curricular courses and his social life, he rationalised that he wasn’t home often enough to see the ‘mess’. His grandmother would have had a fit if she’d known that his dishes were still in the dishwasher, but hey; no one could see them there so who were they hurting? Tubes of oil paints were strewn all over the floor from where he’d accidentally knocked them last night, but at least none of them were open or had leaked. Probably that towel hanging over the bars of the gym equipment should have gone into the laundry basket, and the laundry in the basket (and that which was overflowing out of it) probably should have gone into the wash, but, apart from that and a possible need for a light dusting, Virgil thought the place didn’t look too bad.

In fact, Virgil didn’t really care what the place looked like: with two exceptions. He was always very careful to make sure that all evidence of the future International Rescue was safely hidden away in the concealed safe behind the wall panel. In fact he was so careful about this that he was beginning to wonder if, as the plans were being finalised, he was beginning to become a little paranoid.

His second concession to tidiness was that Virgil always made sure that his bed and bed clothes were neat and tidy. His rationale for this was three-fold. One: he never knew when he might have guests and as his bedroom was also his living area he didn’t like to give the impression that he was a total slob. Two, he never knew when his grandmother might arrive and she’d always been a stickler for a tidily made bed. And three, Virgil loved nothing more than after a hard, grimy day’s work, having had a long hot shower, sliding in between crisp, clean, sweet-smelling sheets. It was because of this last reason, more than any other, that he’d changed his bed linen this morning, adding the old ones to the ever growing laundry basket.

He checked his daypack. Yes, he had everything he needed. Time to leave…

The doorbell rang.

Surprised that someone should be visiting on a Sunday morning, Virgil opened the door to a young woman he’d never seen before.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you Virgil Tancy?”

Even after all this time Virgil still had to consciously remind himself that that was who he was supposed to be. “Yes.”

“My name is Rita Garrad and I’m a friend of Lisa Crump’s,” the stranger said. “She and I have been away this weekend and we drove back this morning because I’ve got to be at a family function by lunchtime… And… Well… This is a bit of an imposition…”

Virgil, waiting, wondered what this had to do with him.

“You’re wondering why I’m telling you this,” Rita said, as if she’d read his mind. “But you see Lisa’s a terrible traveller and she’ll probably tell you that I’m a terrible driver. We took my car and we agreed that Lisa would drive us there and I’d drive the return journey. Anyway, because of this thing I’ve got to go to, we didn’t have any breaks on the way back and I’m afraid Lisa’s been sick and it’s gone everywhere. She and Butch live on the other side of town, but she doesn’t feel up to travelling that far and she was wondering if you’d mind if she came in to recover… Or at least give her something to drink and let her clean up a bit.”

“I was just going out…” Virgil began. The he hesitated. “I guess she can stay here until she feels better. Where is she?” He grabbed an empty container.

“In the car.” Rita led the way out to an old vehicle that looked to have done more miles than a politician on the lead up to an election.

Lisa was sitting side-on in the passenger seat; her eyes shut as she rested her head against the door strut and let the cool air play across her face. Virgil reflected that even green about the gills, flushed with beads of perspiration, and with part of her stomach contents down her front, she still looked like she should be relaxing in the seat of a sleek red convertible, rather than slumped in a tatty old rust bucket. “Hey,” he said, crouching down so that he was closer to her eyelevel. “I hear you’re not feeling so good.”

Lisa opened her eyes and managed a weak smile. “I can’t face going any further,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I don’t want to put you out.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve been there,” he reassured her handing her the bowl. “My father’s commanding officer took us for a ride in his car once. It was a big deal, we were all trying to be on our best behaviour and I had to go and be sick all over the back seat.”

Lisa threw up into his container.

It was Virgil’s turn to apologise. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned the ‘S’ word. You forget how bad it is when you’ve outgrown it.” He stood and held out his hand to her. “Are you able to walk?”

Lisa nodded and got to her feet. “I wish I’d outgrow it.” She leant on his arm, cradling the container close, while Rita grabbed a bag from the boot and followed them up the path. “I’m sorry, Virgil,” she repeated.

They made into the apartment without mishap. “Rita, why don’t you take Lisa into the bathroom and help her get cleaned up?” Virgil suggested. “I’ll put the kettle on and see if I can find something plain for her to eat. I think I’ve got some crackers in here.”

“I’m sorry,” Lisa repeated again. “I’m being an awful nuisance.”

“Go,” he said, pointing in the direction of the bathroom. “That shirt can’t be helping you feel any better.”

Lisa looked down at her stained top. “I am a mess, aren’t I?”

“Come on, Leece,” Rita pulled gently on her friend’s arm. “I’ve got your clothes in your bag.”

“Great,” Lisa moaned. “Yesterday’s clothes. Whatever will you think of me, Virgil?”

“I think you’re someone who’ll be just fine once you’ve got cleaned up and have had a rest.” Virgil moved into his kitchenette, filled up and turned on the kettle. He found a packet of crackers and placed two mugs, two plates, some butter and a jar of a breakfast spread on the counter. Then he looked at his furniture. His sofa could seat two, but was too small to lie on in any comfort. He looked at his watch. He was cutting it fine. He knocked on the bathroom door. “Rita.”

The door opened a crack. “Yes?”

“Look. I’ve got to go out. I’m part way through a first aid course and I can’t afford to miss any lessons. You two can stay here as long as you need. The kettle’s boiled and I’ve left something to eat. Help yourself if you need anything else. If Lisa needs to lie down for a while, I’ve changed my sheets this morning so she can use my bed.”

Lisa heard him and she peered around the door, looking no happier. “I can’t do that, Virgil!”

“There’s no other real option, unless you want to lie on the floor,” he told her. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll change the sheets again when I get back. I’m going to be gone for five hours, so when you leave just lock the door behind you. If you have to go before she’s ready, Rita, perhaps you’ll give Butch a call and let her know where he can pick her up?”

Rita nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Virgil. You’ve been great.”

“I’m sorry, Virgil,” Lisa said, yet again.

“Don’t worry,” he repeated. “Just relax until you’re feeling better. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

The bathroom door closed and Virgil jogged over to his bag and picked it up before looking at his watch again. He was going to be late. He ran from his apartment…

Virgil had forgotten all about his unexpected guests when he returned home that afternoon. His initial plan had been to stop off at the supermarket to stock up for the week. That was until the one of the other trainees, who had been practising inserting intravenous drips into one of the lifelike mannequins, miscalculated and had sprayed ‘blood’ everywhere; mainly over Virgil. Since he had no intention of wandering through the shop looking like a chainsaw murderer, he’d headed home to change his shirt first.

He unlocked the door, dropped his bag on the floor, stripped off the shirt and threw it in the direction of the laundry basket. The sight of crumpled sheets reminded him that he was going to have to make his bed for a second time that day, so he grabbed them as well before realising that something unexpected was caught up in the linen. Something white and lacy.

A woman’s teddy.

It was then that he realised that he could hear the sound of his shower running.

Horrified he dropped the lingerie and the sheets. “Lisa?”

There was an exclamation of surprise from behind the bathroom door. “Oh, Virgil… I’m sorry. I… I lost track of time… I’ll be out soon.”

“Uh… Take your time…” He called and then wondered if he would have been better to have told her to hurry up. If Butch arrived and found his wife naked… In another man’s apartment…

The doorbell rang.

“Oh, heck!” Virgil took a deep breath to settle his nerves. “It’s all perfectly innocent,” he told himself as he approached the door. “There’s no way he can think that something’s happened because nothing has happened.” But, despite his own reassurances, Virgil found himself praying that it wasn’t Lisa’s husband waiting outside.

It wasn’t.

It was someone much worse.

Much, much, much worse!

Infinitely much more worse.

“Grandma!”

“Hello, Virgil, darling.” Grandma took in his startled expression and lack of shirt. “Have I interrupted something?”

“Uh… No…”

“Then are you going to invite me in?”

“Of course…” Virgil stood to one side and allowed the diminutive form of his grandmother to enter his home. He gave her a brief, nervous, peck on the cheek. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting you… I haven’t got any food in the house and I was planning on going to the supermarket. Yeah!” he exclaimed, sensing a solution to his dilemma. “Would you like to come with me?”

But Grandma was at his bedside, surveying his flat and tsking. “Really, Virgil Tracy! I was expecting more from you. This place is a mess. Look!” She picked up the crumpled sheets. “You haven’t even made your…” She found the scrap of white lace. “What’s this?” She unfurled the teddy.

“Uh… I can explain Grandma…”

“I’m sure you can…”

The bathroom door opened…

Lisa stepped out into the room; drying her hair and wearing little more than a towel that just managed to conceal the bare necessities. “That shower was heavenly, Virgil. Nearly as good as your bed! You are such a sweetheart to let me take advantage of you like this and I'll pay you for your services, of course...” she saw the little old lady and turned pink. “Uh... I mean for your water...”

“L-Lisa…” Virgil stammered, not sure whether it was safer to look at the nearly naked woman or the angry one. “Th-This is my grandmother.”

“Oh…” Lisa still looked stunned. “H-Hello.” She tightened knot on the towel.

Virgil could never remember feeling so desperate. “It’s not how it looks, Grandma!”

Her lips were a thin line. “Indeed…” She held out the lingerie at the end of two fingers. “I assume this is yours.”

“Uh…” Lisa took the teddy. “Thanks,” she said sheepishly. “Silly me, I left my underwear on the bed when I went for the shower.” Her pink complexion darkened to crimson.

The doorbell rang again.

Relieved at the welcome interruption and hopeful that it might be the Jehovah’s Witnesses or something similarly time-consuming, Virgil sprang for the door and opened it.

This person definitely wasn’t a J.W.

Virgil’s heart sank when he saw the newcomer. “Oh, no…”

Lisa let out a little cry. “Butch!”

Butch took in his wife’s and Virgil’s various states of undress. His eyes narrowed. “You,” he jabbed at the air in Virgil’s direction, “are dead meat.”

“Let me explain, Butch…” Virgil began back-pedalling. “It’s not what…”

A rock-hard fist made painful contact with the bare skin of his shoulder and he spun out onto the bed. He had time to hear Lisa cry: “don’t hurt him, Virgil!” before Butch made his second attack.

In idle moments, when Virgil had contemplated his co-workers, he had sometimes wondered if a ninth-dan black belt would be able to subdue someone of Butch’s size and bulk.

He was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was easy.

Butch let out a roar, furious to find himself immobilised with such ease. “Let go of me!” He yelled, struggling to release his pinned arms. “I’ll kill you, Tancy!” Then he gave a yelp of surprise.

Having no sooner succeeded in defending himself from Butch, Virgil found himself having to save his attacker from a handbag-wielding Grandma. “How dare you hurt my grandson!” she yelled between blows.

“Grandma!” Virgil released Butch and grabbed his grandmother around the waist to pull her off. “Stop that!”

“But he hit you!”

“I’m aware of that!” Still keeping one hand about his Grandma, Virgil rubbed the rising welts on his tender shoulder. “I thought you’d always said that violence never solves anything?”

“No. Well…” Grandma shook herself free and straightened her attire. “I was right.”

Lisa was at her husband’s side. “Butch,” she exclaimed, rubbing his arms. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Virgil was aghast. “Didn’t hurt him? What about me?!” He rotated his injured shoulder gingerly.

Butch let out another roar and charged, but was stopped from his attack when Grandma, holding her handbag like a club, stepped in his way. “You leave my boy alone.”

“Grandma!” Virgil protested. “I can handle this.”

“Nothing happened, Butch.” Lisa grasped her husband’s hand. “Please believe me,” she pleaded as she pulled him away from the Tracys.

“If nothing happened then why are you dressed like that?!” Butch stormed. “And why is that pervert…” he pointed at Virgil.

At that point things started to get loud, incoherent and out of control. Virgil protested that he hadn’t touched Lisa. Lisa maintained that it had all been perfectly innocent and begged for Butch to believe her. Butch threatened Virgil with bodily harm in numerous painful ways. And Grandma asserted her position that if one hair of her grandson’s head was harmed, then Butch would have more than a handbag to deal with.

Eventually it all got too much. Virgil turned up the volume on his keyboard and leant on several keys. The discordant sound got everyone’s attention and earned their eardrums a momentary respite.

“Right!” Virgil said, taking a deep breath. “Butch… How did you know Lisa was here?”

His arm held tightly by a wide-eyed Lisa, Butch glared at him. “Rita told me.”

“And did she tell you why?”

“She said Lisa had been sick.” Butch looked at his wife, and with a gesture of such tenderness that Virgil wouldn’t have thought possible, caressed his wife’s face. She smiled up at him.

“Right,” Virgil agreed. “And I had to go out, so I told Lisa to sleep in the bed until she felt well enough to go home.”

“Your bed!” Butch snarled. “And what else did you suggest you two do in there?”

“Nothing! I’ve been out all day!” Virgil reiterated. “I left ten minutes after Lisa arrived here, got home five minutes before Grandma turned up, and you arrived five minutes after that!”

“True,” Grandma confirmed.

“We never had time to do anything!”

“Then where’s your shirt?” Butch demanded.

“Here!” Keeping a wide distance between himself and the Crumps, Virgil retrieved the shirt from the floor by the laundry basket. “I’m doing a first aid course and I got fake blood all over it. See!”

There was a thud as Butch Crump hit the floor.

“Oh!” Just as quickly Lisa dropped to her knees by her husband’s side. “He can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“But it’s not real,” Virgil sighed. Concerned by his close proximity to the big man, he rolled Butch into the recovery position, and then stood back to allow him to recover.

“Are you all right, Honey?” Lisa asked, stroking her husband’s cheek fondly.

“Wha…” Butch realised that he’d fainted and, glowering at Virgil, got back to his feet. “What happ’n’d to your shirt?” he asked again, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had happened to him.

“It got covered in bl… stuff at my first aid course,” Virgil repeated. “So I took it off to wash it. I swear that at that point I hadn’t even realised that Lisa was still here, let alone in the shower.”

“He’s telling the truth, Butch,” Lisa said. “Virgil’s been a perfect gentleman, and you know I’d never do anything behind your back. I love you, Butch Crump!” She punctuated the statement with a kiss. “And don’t you forget it.”

Butch appeared to melt. “I know.” He hung his head like a little boy.

Grandma Tracy appeared to decide that it was time for her to take charge. “Since that’s settled you had better get some clothes on, young lady.” She fixed Lisa with a stern gaze.

Lisa nodded like an abashed school girl, gave Butch a peck on the cheek, gathered up her mislaid undergarments, and disappeared back into the bathroom.

“Virgil.”

“Yes, Grandma?”

“Put a shirt on.”

“Yes, Grandma.”

“And make us all some coffee.”

“Yes, Grandma.”

“And you…” Grandma pointed a gnarled finger at Butch. “Sit down.” Butch sat on Virgil’s crumpled bed, which groaned in complaint. Grandma chose a more comfortable chair. “What is your name?”

The big man pulled himself up to his full seated height. “Butch!” he said with obvious pride.

“Nonsense!” She retorted and Virgil cringed into the inside of his shirt, as he pulled it over his head. “Now, what is your real name?”

“Ev’ryone calls me Butch.” Butch glanced at Virgil who, tucking his shirt in, hurried past into the kitchenette.

“I’m sure your mother doesn’t,” Grandma asserted. “What name did she give you?”

Butch hung his head and mumbled something.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Nope. Not gonna tell ya.” Butch pressed his lips together, looked away, and refused to speak. He looked like a big, ugly, obstinate child.

“I don’t accept that behaviour from my grandsons, and I won’t accept it from you,” Grandma threatened. “This is your last warning.”

Virgil, adding a double dose of coffee into Butch’s cup, wondered if his grandmother realised what she was doing. That tone of voice was enough to send him and his brothers (not to mention their father) into self-preservation mode, but he doubted it would have the same effect on a total stranger.

Grandma folded her arms and looked at Butch in displeasure. “I’m waiting.”

Butch hung his head. “Cyril,” he admitted.

“Cyril!”

Grandma turned her steely-eyed look on her grandson. “People have many reasons for not wanting to be called by their birth name, Virgil,” she said pointedly.

“Sorry.” Seeking to make amends Virgil offered a confidence of his own. “I can understand you wanting something different. I don’t know how many times over the years I would have liked to have chucked the name ‘Virgil’ into a furnace.”

Grandma glared at him before turning back to Butch. “You can call me…” Virgil felt a moment’s anxiety. “…Mrs T.”

Virgil thanked his lucky stars that he had such a wonderful grandmother and he gave her a mug of coffee. Then he handed the second, stronger brew, to Butch.

Butch tasted his drink. “Need more coffee,” he said handing the mug back. Virgil retreated into the kitchenette, fuming that he’d been relegated to the role of barista in his own home. He added two more shots of caffeine.

“Now, Cyril,” Grandma began. “You obviously love Lisa.”

Butch’s face took on the soppy appearance of a basset hound puppy. “Yeah.”

“And she clearly loves you. But you’re going to push her away if you carry on like this. A woman can’t live in a relationship where her husband doesn’t trust her.”

“Don’t want to lose her,” Butch whined.

“Then trust her,” Grandma said. “Every long lasting, loving, relationship is based on trust.”

The door to the bathroom opened and, looking fresher, but unsure whether she was welcome, Lisa stepped out. “Um… You wouldn’t happen to have a hair dryer, would you, Virgil…?” He stared at her. “No. I guess not.”

Virgil got her another towel to wrap around her hair.

Grandma smiled up at him. “Weren’t you going to the supermarket, Honey?”

“What…?” Virgil handed Lisa a cup of coffee. “Uh… Yeah… Yes, I was.”

“Good. That will take you a couple of hours, won’t it? Then I can make the four of us dinner when you get back.”

“Right…” Virgil agreed, not enamoured with the suggestion. “Do you want anything in particular?”

Grandma pulled a notebook out of her bag and made a few notes. “There. That will do it.”

Virgil read the paper, glad that he wasn’t relying on his ACE new employee’s salary to survive. “Right… I’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time, Dear.”

“Okay.” Virgil grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. “Who lives here anyway?” he muttered as he strode out to his car. “I’ve been kicked out of my own house!”

Exactly two hours later, having stopped off at an amused Bruce’s to kill some time, he was back. He was about to go inside when he realised that there was a hot red car standing a few metres from the gate. He took a minute to admire it, before grabbing armloads of groceries and heading for his front door.

He hesitated before entering. Should he knock first? Why? It was his house after all. But Grandma had clearly wanted him out of the way while she did her spot of marriage counselling. He gave an exasperated sigh and tapped on the door with his elbow.

After a moment’s delay, it slid open to reveal Grandma Tracy. “Did you forget your key, Honey?”

“No,” Virgil bluffed. “My hands are full.”

“Good. Let me help you with those.” Grandma took a bag and headed for the kitchenette.

“Let me, Mrs T.” Butch was up off the sofa on which he and Lisa had been relaxing.

“Why thank you, Cyril.”

Butch grabbed the bag and dumped it on the kitchen counter. Something cracked.

Virgil was glad to see that not only had his bed been abandoned, but that in his absence it had been made with clean sheets. The sight of it mollified his temper a little. “What can I do to help, Grandma?”

“Oh! Do let me, Virgil,” Lisa begged, leaping to her feet. “It’s the least I can do after all the trouble I’ve been. You boys can sit and talk.”

Virgil had never been convinced that Butch would be able to hold down his end of a conversation, but the pair of them shared an amicable exchange until the meal was ready.

They squashed up around the small table to eat the meal and afterward the Crumps offered to do the dishes. Wary of Butch’s ability to hand crockery with care and mindful of his full dishwasher, Virgil put his foot down and insisted that they had done enough. They thanked him for his hospitality, Butch nearly breaking his arm with the handshake, embraced Grandma Tracy warmly, and walked out of the apartment arm-in-arm.

With a sigh of relief Virgil shut the door behind them.

There was a roar outside.

Virgil made a dash for the window and was just in time to see Lisa and Butch disappear in the red car. “That’s his?!”

“What’s his?” Grandma arrived at his shoulder too late to see the metal beast.

“The Red-Arrow Sportster!” Virgil enthused. “That’s a classic! Six cylinders, 300 cubic inch V-8… I wish I could get a look at that engine…” his voice tapered off when he saw her amused face. “Sorry.” He opened his arms wide in greeting. “Good to see you, Grandma.”

Grandma chuckled as they hugged. “Let’s get these dishes done.”

“Uh… I’ll do that; you put your feet up.”

“If you’re worried that I’ll see the contents of your dishwasher then you’re too late. I’ve already put one load through.”

“Oh…” Virgil hung his head as Butch had earlier. “Sorry,” he apologised again. “I thought I was going to be the only one here tonight… Not kicked out of my home.”

She tutted and then, seeing his crestfallen face, gave him an affectionate kiss. “Come on. The sooner we get that chore finished, the sooner we can have a little chat.”

The dishes were done in quick time and then they retired to the sofa with a drink. “How’s work?” Grandma asked.

“I feel as if I’m in a holding pattern until we start International Rescue,” Virgil admitted. “But it’s getting better. I’m more accepted by my colleagues and they’ve stopped thinking of me as the new upstart who muscled his way in on his fancy diploma.”

“Well, that’s something. Do you have much to do with Cyril and Lisa?”

Virgil chuckled. “Cyril! Can you imagine anyone less like a Cyril?”

“Under all that bravado he is a very nice boy,” Grandma smiled. “However I will admit that they are an unlikely pair. What does she see in him?”

“Dunno. I haven’t had much to do with them at work. Butch introduced himself to me on my first day by warning me off her, and she wasn’t even at work that week. She was on a welding course.”

Grandma gave him a sideways look. “A welding course?”

Virgil held up his hand in a three fingered salute. “Scouts honour! She’s the best welder at ACE.” Grandma shook her head in disbelief. “I didn’t know they knew where I lived.”

Grandma clucked her tongue. “I hope my little talk did some good.”

“If nothing else, you saved my neck.”

“You would have been all right. I was very impressed with the way you handled him.”

Virgil laughed. “Not as impressive as you were with that handbag, Grandma. Maybe you should give Lady Penelope lessons.”

“I’m sure that girl can handle herself.”

Virgil nodded, remembering Scott’s bout with the formidable aristocrat. “I think she can.”

“Have you heard anything from John about Tracey and the baby?” Grandma asked in her I’m pretending to be unconcerned, but I’m dying to know what’s going on voice.

“No. I haven’t heard from John since he left for the space station. It’s only been a week; I guess he’s still settling in.”

Grandma frowned. “Have you emailed him?”

“I don’t know if he can get emails.”

“Why, yes he can. We’ve been corresponding daily.” Virgil’s face must have told a story, because Grandma continued speaking. “Haven’t you received anything?”

“No, nothing… Maybe they got lost in the ether somewhere… Beamed out to space instead of to Earth.”

“I don’t see why they should, you know John’s always very careful with his communications. He’s been in contact with your father and your brothers, even Gordon. He’s phoned me twice.” She looked at her grandson closely. “What’s wrong, Honey? Have you and John had some kind of fight?”

“No,” Virgil said. “Not a fight.”

“But something’s happened between you.”

“We…” Virgil decided that he couldn’t discuss that phone call in detail, not even with his grandma. “We had a discussion about International Rescue.”

“What kind of discussion?”

“An unusual one.”

“How do you mean unusual?”

Virgil took her hands in his. “Please don’t ask me, Grandma,” he begged. “Father knows and that’s enough. John and I will sort it out eventually.”

“Your father knows…? Is that why he’s offered us all time to think about whether or not we want to join?”

Virgil thought for a moment before uttering a simple “Yes.”

“Does this mean that either you or John doesn’t want to belong?”

“Grandma...”

“Oh… All right” Grandma placed her cup on the table. “Talking about International Rescue... That’s one reason why I’ve visited you.”

Wary, Virgil looked at her. “To say what?”

“I’ve decided against joining.”

In shock, Virgil stared. “What!”

“I’m too old and my roots are set too deep, to pull everything up and move halfway around the world.”

“But… You’re not too old!”

“Now, that’s sweet of you, but yes, I am. I’m too old to be dragged away from all my friends. I have a life here. I have interests, I belong to organisations. What will I do on Tracy Island?” Grandma caressed his devastated face. “I will visit, you know.”

“But you’ve still got your pilot’s licence, haven’t you? You can always fly back to the States whenever you want.”

“Alone?”

“Why not?” Virgil persisted. “You’re perfectly capable of flying anywhere solo.”

“Think for a moment, Virgil. I’m all right bunny-hopping above land, but would you really be comfortable with my flying solo over all that ocean?”

“One of us would be glad to take you where ever you want to go,” Virgil’s stubborn streak was coming to the fore.

“If you’re out on a rescue you won’t be available. And I don’t want to have to rely on others. I value my independence.” Grandma sighed. “I thought that you’d understand, Honey. You do understand, don’t you?”

Virgil nodded: downcast. “Yes, Grandma.” He looked at her. “Having you about full time was one of the things I was looking forward to.”

“I know. And I was looking forward to having you all about me again. But it’s not practical.”

Virgil nodded. “I understand.”

“Don’t worry about your meals. I think your father’s got that in hand.”

“He’s known about this for a while?”

“I have an idea that he was thinking that I’d be able to sit back and relax. But I don’t want to relax. I want to live.”

Virgil nodded again, thinking how much like their grandmother John was. “Are you staying at Father’s tonight?”

“I was planning too. I’d better get a move on to get things ready.”

“Why don’t you stay here? You can have my bed and I’ll get out the camp stretcher and sleep on that. I can erect a screen across there so you’ll have some privacy.”

“Are you sure, Virgil? You don’t want some old woman cramping your space.”

“Believe me; you could never cramp my space.”

“I know what you’re after,” she prodded her grandson playfully in the chest. “You just want to be able to brag to your brothers that you shared your bed with two women today.”

“Grandma!”

Virgil sat in the canteen at ACE and thought about the previous night. He and Grandma had talked for a while before she’d finally retired to bed. Once he was alone Virgil had taken the opportunity to try to compose an email to John.

It hadn’t been easy.

Dear John, it had begun. I hope that you are well. We are all missing you. Then there’d been a lot of thought before Virgil added. Are you enjoying yourself? More thought. Have you discovered anything interesting? He’d carried on like this writing something, before deciding that it sounded lame and deleting it, getting more and more frustrated, and eventually hitting the send button when he’d meant to save.

Virgil grimaced. It was hardly an expression of brotherly love.

“What’s the matter?” Bruce asked, seeing his friend’s expression. “Thinking about the one that got away?” He leered across the table at Virgil.

“Just thinking about last night,” Virgil admitted. “I was trying to send an email to John and I made a real mess of it.”

“Did you tell him about what happened yesterday?”

Virgil shook his head. “No. I didn’t think he’d be interested.”

“Not interested! The bragging rights you’ve scored just by having Lisa Crump in your house! There’s not a guy here who doesn’t dream about her sleeping in their bed… Except for Winston, of course. He probably dreams about you sleeping in his.”

“What!”

Bruce laughed at Virgil’s indignant expression. “Relax, I’m joking.”

Something powerful hit Virgil between the shoulder-blades, causing him to spill much of his coffee into Bruce’s lap. “Hiya, Buddy!”

Trying not to wince in pain, Virgil looked upwards. “Hi, Butch.”

“You’re a great guy. I just wanted you to know that my wife can sleep in your bed any time.” Butch’s voice was like the rest of him: big, and Virgil cringed as every pair of eyes in the canteen turned to look at them. Bruce, trying to remove scalding coffee from his overalls, snickered.

“Ah… Butch,” Virgil began. “You might like to rephrase that.”

“What?” The big man looked bemused, before a goofy grin broke out over his face. “Oh, yeah.” He scowled at the rest of the room’s occupants. “My wife’s not like that,” he informed the assembly. “And my pal here,” Virgil received another slap on the back, nearly dissecting him against the edge of the table, “isn’t interested in that kind of thing.”

Virgil reached up and grabbed Butch’s sleeve and, ignoring Bruce’s expression of horror, pulled him down into the seat next to him. “Sit down before you make things even worse, and tell us about that Red-Arrow. It’s not yours, is it?”

“Yep!” Butch puffed himself out in pride. “She’s mine.”

“She’s beautiful! How come you never bring her to work?”

“D’ya think I’d let these meatheads get their hands on her? ‘Cept you of course, Pal.” Virgil submitted to a bruising but friendly punch on the arm.

“Red-Arrow?” Bruce asked. “What are we talking about?”

“Butch’s Red-Arrow Sportster,” Virgil exclaimed. “You should hear her roar.”

Butch had been ferreting about in his wallet. “Here y’are,” he said holding out a photograph. The photograph was of Lisa, wearing next to nothing, lying provocatively on the gleaming red automobile and it book both Virgil and Bruce a moment to drag their attention back to the car.

“You don’t carry that photo around with you, do you?” Lisa Crump sighed, having walked up behind them.

“Course I do,” her husband bragged. “That picha’s of my two best girls.”

Lisa gave him an indulgent smile and took the remaining seat at the table. “How’s your grandmother, Virgil?”

“She’s fine. She’s flying home today, but she told me to send both of you her best.”

“What time is she heading out?” Lisa asked.

Virgil shrugged. “It depends on if she decides to do anything in town before she leaves. She flies her own plane.”

Lisa stared at him. “She does?”

“Yep. When you’re stuck in the middle of Kansas, you’ve got to be able to escape somehow.”

“Amazing,” Lisa breathed.

“Mrs T’s a great lady,” Butch stated. “She’s a great cook too. I like her.”

Virgil found himself agreeing with him. “She stayed the night and cooked me breakfast. I haven’t eaten so well in weeks!”

Bruce sniggered. “You’ve been superseded, Lisa. You’d no sooner left when Virgie here goes and gets another woman to keep his bed warm.”

Lisa blushed as Virgil glared at his friend.

Butch laughed: a rich baritone.

“Anyway, Boys,” Lisa said to Virgil and Bruce. “You’re both with me this week. We’re going to be using the new welder.”

The prospect brightened Virgil’s day.

They’d spent the first half of the week working on creating panels for Barrett Ltd, aka Thunderbird Five, and when Virgil reported to Lisa for work after lunch on Wednesday she was examining some gauges. “We’re running low on dehydroidizine,” she mused. “We’d better top the welder up.”

“What does the dehydroidizine do?” Bruce asked.

“It’s a dehydration agent. Keeps the surface of whatever you’re welding dry to ensure a clean weld. It goes into that compartment there.” Lisa pointed at a container that was suspended at about waist level on the welder. “It’s drip fed through that tube into there,” she pointed through a clear window, “to where the welding nozzle is situated.” She pulled on a pair of chemical-resistant gloves, opened a nearby canister and removed a bag filled with liquid.

“Looks like a tasty cocktail,” Bruce commented upon seeing the scarlet skull and cross bone symbols on the yellow packaging.

“It dehydrates the body on contact with the skin, doesn’t it?” Virgil said, trying to recollect what he’d learnt at Denver.

“Yes,” Lisa confirmed. “Get it into your eyes or nose or swallow it and you’re singing with the angels. “That’s why the welding nozzle on this machine is behind this protective screen and you never open the bag when you load the dehydroidizine. You only have to slide it, bag and all, into the tank. When you start the machine up the bottom of the bag is perforated allowing the liquid to escape. Would you open the lid for me, Virgil? It’s the switch under the cover.”

“Sure.” Virgil pulled a catch down, lifted the protective cover, and flicked the switch. The lid over the dehydroidizine tank swung upwards.

“Thanks.” Lisa positioned the bag over the mouth of the tank. “Stand back, boys. There’s little risk, but it’s better to be safe than sorry…”

What occurred next happened so fast that the three of them had no time to react. The dehydroidizine bag ruptured and Lisa, still holding the bag, received a face full of toxic liquid. She collapsed faster than Butch’s Red-Arrow.

“Lisa!” Both Bruce and Virgil converged on the stricken woman. “Get the trauma kit,” Bruce ordered.

“Right!” Virgil raced across to one of the many first aid posts. He pulled the first aid kit from the wall, setting a chain of events into action. A siren sounded, a call was put through to the ambulance services, the doctor was summonsed, an ‘emergency situation’ map appeared on all computers in the plant, all power was cut and emergency lighting switched on, and the crucible furnace began its inexorable cooling down process.

Taking care not to touch his workmate any more than necessary, Bruce was doing the initial check of her condition. “Lisa! Can you hear me?” he yelled, rocking her by her uncontaminated hip.

“Any response?” Virgil asked as he returned.

“No. Hand me a pair of those chem. gloves, would you?” Virgil obeyed and pulled a pair onto his own hands.

As he followed Bruce’s example and reached into the trauma box to pull out a phial of saline solution, Virgil became aware that a crowd was gathering. He snapped off the end of the phial and started rinsing the toxin off Lisa’s drying skin.

“Keep back,” someone ordered, forcing the crowd back from the scene of the emergency. “Keep back and that’s an order!” It was Max Watts.

“Lisa!” There was a howl of anguish from the back of the crowd and Butch bulldozed his way through. “Lisa!”

“Butch! Wait!” Virgil jumped to his feet, grabbed the big man by the shoulders and held him back. “We’re looking after her…”

“But look at her…”

“I know…” Virgil thought briefly. “We need your help.”

“Doin’ what?” Virgil saw a pleading intensity in the other man’s eyes. “I wantta help. I’ve gotta help!”

“Sit by her head,” Virgil instructed. “Talk to her. Tell her she’s going to be okay.”

“Can she hear me?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil admitted. “But if she can, she needs to know you’re here. But don’t touch her or the liquid! Okay?”

Butch sniffed. “Okay.”

Lisa’s face appeared to have aged about fifty years. The skin that had been so pale, clear and healthy was now grey, wrinkled and drawn. Her eyes were sunken in her head and her husband choked back a sob as he knelt by her side. “I’m here, Leece. I’m here, Honey. Don’t worry, you’re gonna be okay.”

Virgil snapped another phial of saline open.

“Do you know what happens in cases of severe dehydration?” Bruce asked.

“Hypovolemic shock,” Virgil replied. “Physical collapse.”

“Liesl,” Butch moaned. “My Liesl,” and then, surprisingly, he started to croon a song into his wife’s ear.

Bruce trickled saline down Lisa’s cheek. “Her breathing’s already becoming shallower. But if she arrests and is without oxygen for too long we’re not going to be able to start artificial respiration. Not with all this muck on her face.”

“Hopefully she’ll have enough oxygen in her lungs to carry her through until the professionals arrive.”

“I’m going to check her temperature.” Bruce reached into the trauma kit and pulled out a thermometer. “Where’s that doctor?!” He cut an overall sleeve away and thrust a thermometer into Lisa’s armpit. “39 degrees Celsius!”

“That’s a huge increase from 36.8!” Virgil exclaimed.

“And it’s still climbing.”

“Liesl,” Butch intoned.

“She’s arrested!” Bruce yelled.

“No!” Butch bellowed. “You’ve gotta do something! Lisa!”

“I’m starting chest compressions.”

“Lisa,” Butch begged. “Stay wi’ me, Lisa!”

It was a sound of anguish that chilled Virgil’s bones. “Keep talking to her, Butch,” he urged. “Sing to her!”

“But she can’t hear me!”

“Maybe she can. Here…” Virgil thrust some saline into Butch’s hand. Rinse the dehydroidizine off. Don’t let it run into her mouth, nose, eyes or ears. Okay?”

“Okay,” Butch sniffed; then he pointed at Bruce. “What’s he doin’!”

Bruce had retrieved the scissors from out of the trauma kit and was cutting down the front of Lisa’s overalls exposing first a t-shirt, then a bra, both of which were discarded. “Sorry, Lisa,” he apologised to the unconscious woman, before he whipping off his soiled gloves and replacing them with clean dry ones.

“But… But… Why’re you… you exposin’ her?” Butch stammered and Bruce went to work on Lisa’s chest.

“He’s got to do CPR,” Virgil explained. “With no clothing there’s nothing to impede what he’s doing. And there’s less chance of him spreading dehydroidizine about. It’s for the best.”

“What’z’er temperature?” Bruce puffed between compressions.

Grabbing the scissors Virgil slit open Lisa’s other sleeve exposing her arm. She was now completely devoid of clothing from the waist up, a fact that was lost on the men working on her.

Virgil looked at the thermometer. “Still climbing.” He pinched the skin of her arm and instead of springing back into place, it remained puckered. “She’s really dehydrated. We’ve got to get fluids into her.” A memory surfaced. “Can you keep going for a bit, Bruce?”

“Yep.”

Virgil was on his feet and, pushing bodies out of his way without care, running for the locker room. “Outta my way,” he ordered one individual who, with his back to the action, didn’t see him coming.

He barrelled into the locker room, unlocked his locker, yanked open the door, and pulled a bag out. Then, without bothering to secure his belongings, he ran out the door and back to the huddle of people.

He was dimly aware of Hamish Mickelson stepping out of his way as he pushed his way through.

“Whatcha got?” Bruce asked, his rhythmic compressions never wavering.

“Saline IVs,” Virgil replied.

“What?!”

Virgil readied the needle. “I’ve never done this on a living person before.” He tried to find a vein. “She’s too dehydrated!”

“You need a something to raise the vein.”

“I know,” Virgil was delving into the trauma kit to find something suitable. His fingers closed about an elastic bandage. “Butch! Wrap that around her upper arm and pull tight.” Butch, by now so in shock that he was acting without conscious thought, obeyed and the vein in the crook of Lisa’s elbow was raised enough so that Virgil was able to see it. Praying that he was doing everything correctly, he inserted the needle. “Okay, Butch. You can release the bandage.” Numbly the big man obeyed. “Are you doing okay, Pal?” Butch nodded.

Amazingly, for such a short space of time, the saline bag was nearly empty. Virgil readied a replacement. “This seems to be working.”

“Good.” Bruce was starting to flag.

“Want me to take over?” Virgil offered.

“Bag’s nearly empty,” Butch gulped.

“I’m okay,” Bruce said, getting his second wind. “You keep feeding her that IV.”

It seemed like hours before there was a commotion at the back of the crowd, which parted to admit the paramedics. They gave Lisa a quick once over before one of them spoke. “Right, Guys. You’ve done a good job, but we’ll take over now.”

It was with relief that Bruce and Virgil fell back and allowed the professionals to do their job. An ambulance officer approached them. “Can you describe to me exactly what happened?”

Between them they recounted the afternoon’s drama as Lisa was stabilised, attached to various bits of equipment and then transferred to a stretcher. By the time she was wheeled out of the factory, accompanied by Butch, they’d finished recounting their tale.

Excitement over: they retreated to the locker room. Virgil stared in dismay at his locker, the contents of which were scattered over the floor. “I thought I’d only removed the bag.”

“What were you doing with IV bags in your locker?” Bruce asked as he helped clear up.

“I bought them for practise for my first aid course,” Virgil explained.

“What were you going to practise on?”

“I’ve got a mannequin at home. It gave Grandma a heck of a fright when she opened the cupboard door and found him standing there.” He slammed the locker shut.

“I’ll bet,” Bruce chuckled and then collapsed onto the seat. “I hope I never have to deal with anything like that again.”

Virgil made no comment. His International Rescue work would probably mean that life and death situations ‘like that’ would be a regular occurrence. “I hope Lisa’s going to be okay.”

They were both still sitting there, drained, when their workmates found them. For the next ten minutes they endured congratulations and pats on the backs.

“Nice one, Guys,” Louis acknowledged. “That must have been quite an experience, Buzz.”

“Yeah,” Bruce conceded. “It was.”

“Lisa Crump topless under your fingertips. What was it like?”

Bruce gave him a disgusted looked. “Oh, grow up, Lou.”

“But that was every guy’s dream! You must have felt something… apart from the obvious.” He leered down at his colleague.

Bruce fixed him with a baleful glare. “I didn’t think that it was Lisa. I didn’t think about what state her clothes were in. All I thought was that I had to do everything I could to keep her alive.”

“But surely…”

“But surely you can show the poor girl a bit of respect!” Bruce snapped. “She nearly died! She may yet…” his voice broke. “Get outta here, Louis!”

“Uh, okay,” not really understanding Louis frowned. “Catch you guys later. Ol’ Micky’s given us the rest of the day off.” He grabbed his coat and bag from his locker and jogged from the room leaving his two workmates alone.

“Good.” Bruce sighed and, closing his eyes, rested his head against his locker. “I don’t think I could face work again today.”

“Me neither,” Virgil agreed. “Are you okay?”

Bruce opened his eyes and looked at him. “I think I’m in shock. How about you?”

“Me too,” Virgil agreed. “Now that the excitement’s over I’m getting a case of the shakes.”

“Tell me about it.” Bruce held out a quivering hand.

Max Watts entered the room. “Tancy!”

Virgil struggled to his feet. “Yes, Mr Watts?”

“Do you know what you did out there today?!”

Virgil felt his heckles start to rise. What he’d done was help save a woman’s life! He hoped…

Watts glared at him, his displeasure clearly evident. “You are NOT an authorised first aider. You initiated a costly shut down of the plant including the crucible furnace. AND you pushed Mr Mickelson out of the way with no regard for his position in the company!”

With an effort, Virgil managed to control his temper. “I’m sorry, Mr Watts. I just did what I thought was necessary. I wasn’t aware of who I was pushing when I ran for my bag.”

“We were on the scene so we did what we had to, Mr Watts,” Bruce protested. “I’m sure you realise that Virgil was only doing what he could to help. And if it hadn’t been for Virgil’s saline IV…”

“Be quiet, Sanders,” Watts interrupted. “I’ve thought of a suitable punishment for your actions, Tancy! And I am going to go straight to Mr Mickelson to demand…” by now Virgil was quivering with rage instead of shock, “that he revoke your ‘Final Warning’.”

Virgil, ready to tell his superior exactly what he thought of him, felt as if he’d just been doused by a bucket of iced water. “What?!” he asked unsure if he’d heard correctly.

Hamish Mickelson bustled into the room. “Ah, good. I wanted to catch the pair of you before you went home. Well done, boys.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’ve just got off the phone from the hospital. Lisa’s in intensive care and I’m heading off there now to go and sit with Butch, but I had to offer Jeff Tracy’s and ACE’s thanks before I left.”

“If I may have a word, Mr Mickelson,” Watts said. “I would like to recommend the revocation of Tancy’s ‘Final Warning’.”

Mickelson smiled. “Good idea, Max. I think he’s earned it.” He turned to Bruce. “I’m sure we can think of a suitable reward for you too, Mr Sanders.”

“Uh… There’s no need, Mr Mickelson. After all,” Bruce managed to revive his cheeky grin, “that’s what you pay me the first aider’s allowance for.”

“Nevertheless, I think you both deserve some kind of formal recognition.”

Watts’ demeanour had softened so much that he was barely recognisable as the blustering man who had entered the locker room. “I’m sure that when Mr Tracy hears of your actions, you will be suitably rewarded.”

“Uh…” shocked by the change in his supervisor’s behaviour, Virgil felt his legs give out on him and he sat down heavily on the seat. “Ah… Thanks.”

Mickelson frowned down at him in concern. “Are you all right, Virgil?”

“Yes, Unc… ah, Mr Mickelson. It’s just been an ‘interesting’ day.”

“Well, take care of yourself, both of you,” Watts said. “I expect you to be back at work tomorrow.”

“I’m afraid we won’t be operational tomorrow, Max,” Hamish Mickelson explained. “Mr Tracy and the dehydroidizine people want to ensure that this type of accident doesn’t happen again and a full investigation will take place tomorrow.” He turned back to his two employees. “I’m afraid the investigative team will want a full report from each of you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr Mickelson, I want to supervise the furnace shut down,” Mr Watts said, and departed the locker room.

“I’ve rung and told Edna, my wife, to tell her what happened and that I’ll probably be late home, and she’s offered to cook a special dinner in honour of the pair of you. Are you available tonight? Mr Sanders? Mr, erm, Tancy?”

“Bruce knows who I am, Uncle Hamish.”

Hamish Mickelson chuckled. “All right then. Would you like to come to dinner, ‘Mr Tracy’? Edna thinks you’ve been ignoring us.”

The thought of one of Edna Mickelson’s meals was irresistible. “Yes, please. How about you, Bruce? You said you had nothing on tonight.”

“Yes… ah… I mean no… I mean… Thank you, Sir.”

“Good,” Mickelson’s smile broadened. “We’ll make it 7.30. Hopefully I’ll be finished here by then. Virgil knows how to get to my place, so I’ll leave him to give you directions, Mr Sanders.”

“I’ll pick you up, Bruce,” Virgil offered. “Just in case that rust-bucket of yours refuses to start.” He received a baleful glare in reply.

Virgil knocked and had to wait until the door was opened revealing Bruce, unexpectedly dressed in formal attire.

Virgil, wearing neat but casual, laughed. “You’ve never struck me as a suit and tie man.”

“We’re going to the boss’s house,” Bruce moaned. “How else am I supposed to dress?”

“Comfortably. Leave the jacket and tie at home if you want. Uncle Hamish and Aunt Edna won’t mind.”

“I can’t get used to you calling Ol’ Micky ‘Uncle Hamish’.” Bruce hung his jacket on a hook and draped his tie over the top. He loosened his collar. “How do I look?”

“Why are you worried?”

“We’re going to the boss’s house,” Bruce repeated. “I wish you hadn’t remembered that I was free tonight.”

“Why?” Virgil asked, surprised.

“Because we’re…”

“…Going to the boss’s house,” Virgil finished for him. “Trust me. They’re a great couple when he’s away from work, and if you missed this chance of trying Aunt Edna’s cooking, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

“I’m sure I’d manage to survive… Why don’t you say I’m sick, or something? Say I got some dehydroidizine on me and I’ve shrivelled up like a prune!”

“You should know by now that I’m no good at lying, and they both know me well enough to know when I’m not telling the truth.” Virgil looked at his watch. “Come on, Bruce. We don’t want to be late. Aunt Edna would not be happy if we let her meal burn.”

They needn’t have worried. Hamish Mickelson met them at the door and escorted them into the lounge where they were joined by a short, motherly woman. “Virgil! It’s about time you came to visit.”

Virgil greeted her with an affectionate embrace. “Hi, Aunt Edna. You’re looking…” he sniffed the air, which was filled with warm, aromatic odours, “and smelling, great.”

“Well, try not to drool all over the furniture,” Edna replied with obvious fondness. “Dinner won’t be ready for another half hour. And you must be Bruce,” she said to the other young man.

“Yes, that’s right, Mrs Mickelson,” he replied.

“Tonight’s a social occasion and a celebration,” she tutted. “You can call me ‘Aunt Edna’ like Virgil does.”

Though still nervous Bruce managed a smile. “Thank you… Aunt Edna.”

She laughed. “Excuse me while I get back to my pots and pans. Hamish will get you a drink.”

“What can I get you, gentlemen?” her husband asked. They’d made their selections before the doorbell rang. “Ah!” Hamish’s face lit up. “Please, excuse me.”

“Is that ‘Aunt Edna’s’ secret to her cooking?” Bruce whispered. “They order in pizza?” Virgil laughed.

Through the partially closed door they could hear two male voices; Hamish first. “Glad you could make it,” Hamish said.

“I had to at least try to make the effort,” the other replied. “Any excuse to taste Edna’s cooking.”

Bruce saw Virgil’s face light up and he groaned. “It’s not… Is it?”

Virgil nodded. “Yep. It’s Father.”

Bruce leant close. “Then help me get out of here!”

Virgil frowned. “Why?”

“Because that’s Jeff Tracy!”

“That’s my father.”

“That’s our boss!”

“That’s my father.”

“He’s one of the richest men in the world!”

“And he’s my father!”

“He’s famous… He’s been to the moon… He’s…”

“Bruce,” Virgil said, trying to be patient. “He’s my father. He’s just an ordinary man.”

“No, he’s not. He’s…”

The door opened and the two young men scrambled to their feet as a beaming Jeff Tracy, followed by his mother and Hamish Mickelson entered the room. “Ah! Here are our two heroes!”

Virgil crossed over to give him a warm greeting. “This is a surprise. Uncle Hamish didn’t tell us you were coming.” When Jeff hesitated, he grinned. “Don’t worry. Bruce knows our relationship.”

“Thank heavens for that. I wasn’t looking forward to spending the evening pretending I don’t know you.”

Virgil grimaced. “I won’t say that you get used to it.”

“Well let’s not worry about that now.” Jeff gave his son an affectionate punch on the shoulder, managing to strike the spot that Butch had hit with less restraint days earlier. “When you said you wanted to work at ACE to get some practical experience, I didn’t realise that this was what you had in mind.”

Virgil rubbed his shoulder and laughed. Grandma tittered, Hamish chortled and Bruce, unaware of the hidden meaning behind the remark and wanting to please his employer, chuckled.

“Tonight’s supposed to be a celebration,” Jeff continued, “so let’s forget work and celebrate. I’ve brought the champagne and your grandmother brought herself. I ‘picked her up at the hospital’.”

“Picked you up at the hospital?” Virgil hugged his grandmother. “He makes you sound like some kind of germ.” He grinned. “You’re my kind of bug.”

She gave him an affectionate slap. “Sweet talker.”

“Bruce,” Jeff approached the nervous young man, his hand outstretched in greeting. “Well done. I’m glad to see that ACE employs such capable people.”

“Thank you, Mr Tracy.”

“I don’t think you’ve met my mother.”

“Hello, Bruce.”

“Hello, Mrs Tracy.”

“You can call me ‘Mrs T’. Butch does. And it saves remembering everybody’s relationship, or not, to each other.”

Edna entered the room, wiping her hands on her apron. “Good. We’re all here.” She greeted the Tracys warmly. “Lovely to see you again, Jeff. It’s been too long.”

“You too, Edna.” Jeff gave her an affectionate hug. “What’s on the menu tonight?”

“Just you wait,” she teased. “It won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes.”

“Can I help, Edna?” Mrs Tracy asked.

“Thanks for the offer, but everything’s under control. You sit and relax after your flight.” Edna bustled out of the lounge.

“What do you mean that you ‘picked Grandma up at the hospital?” Virgil asked as he reclaimed his chair.

Jeff ordered his drink and relaxed into an easy chair. “We both wanted to check up on Lisa, but we didn’t want to ‘break your cover’. So Grandma went in first, saying that she’d heard about the accident from you.” Virgil glanced at his grandmother. Under normal circumstances she didn’t hold with lying and he hadn’t been in contact since she’d left his place on Monday. “I waited in the car for a few minutes and then went in myself.”

“Butch was very pleased and flattered to see the both of us,” Grandma added. “And he was such a gentleman. He graciously introduced his employer to his friend’s mother. I must say that it was most fortunate that your employer turned up at the hospital at the same time that I did, Virgil.” She gave a wink. “He was able to give me a ride to the Mickelsons’. Much easier than taking a taxi.” She gave a dramatic sigh. “Mr Tracy is such a gentleman. It’s his maternal upbringing, of course.”

“Of course,” Virgil laughed.

“Butch is very worried about Lisa,” Jeff admitted. “He refuses to leave her side, he’s constantly in the medical staff’s way, and he glares at anyone who gets near her.”

Virgil sat forward. “How is she?”

“They’ve moved her out of Intensive Care and into the High Dependency Unit and are going to keep her sedated until they’re sure there’s no organ damage. She’s getting the best possible treatment and I’ve told them to send the bill to me to make sure it stays that way... But that poor husband of hers is a mess… and he’s intimidating the staff.”

“I thought he was a big pussycat,” Grandma stated.

Virgil grinned. “That’s because you know how to pat him the right way, Grandma… With your handbag.”

“Mother?”

“Never you mind, Jeff. Virgil’s teasing.”

Jeff looked at his son with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, yes…?”

Grandma ignored her son’s bemused query.

“Butch isn’t the brightest bulb in the string,” Virgil noted, “but he’s no fool. It was agonising to hear him when he thought Lisa was dying, wasn’t it, Bruce?

Bruce nodded his agreement. “Yeah. Gave us that extra incentive to help her.”

“Well, it’s thanks to you two that she’s survived.” Jeff settled back in the chair. “Now, before we stop discussing ACE all together, let’s hear the whole story.” Taking it in turns and filling in the blanks for each other where necessary, Virgil and Bruce recollected the drama of earlier in the day. When they reached the moment that disaster struck, Jeff stopped them, looking thoughtful. “You say the bag ruptured?”

“Yes,” Virgil confirmed. “She was in the process of getting it into position when I guess she squeezed it slightly. There must have been a weak point in the plastic and the bag’s contents sprayed out all over her.”

“The irony of it,” Bruce added, comfortable participating in what he regarded as a kind of debriefing, “is that she’d only just finished lecturing us on the danger of the stuff. She’d been really careful handling it too, hadn’t she, Virgil? She had made sure we were well clear and everything.”

“I don’t mean this to sound crass,” Virgil began, “but did they say if the dehydroidizine is going to leave any lasting physical damage?”

“She’s going to have to take care of her skin for a while,” Jeff admitted, “but no, they think Lisa Crump will be a beautiful as she ever was.”

“That’ll please Butch,” Virgil said.

“That’ll please every male member of staff,” Bruce joked and then looked at his employers and Mrs Tracy, turned scarlet, and stared at his hands.

“What I don’t understand, Uncle Hamish,” Virgil stated. “Is how come Bruce and I were the only ones looking after her? I’m not an authorised first aider.”

“We’ve got four official first aiders on site,” Hamish replied. “Two, ironically, are off on a refresher course. One called in sick, and the other is Bruce. Lisa’s fortunate that you had the necessary skills.”

“And the bags of saline,” Bruce added.

“Dinner’s ready!” Edna announced. She led them into the dinning room. “Now: Jeff, you can sit there next to Hamish… But no talking shop!” she threatened. “This is your seat between Bruce and Hamish,” she indicated to Mrs Tracy, “and…,” she hooked her arms through Virgil’s and Bruce’s, “I’m going to have these two handsome young men on either side of me!”

As Virgil had predicted, the meal was sublime. He’d watched with interest as, aided by the superb food and champagne, Bruce had gradually relaxed and was enjoying bantering with Jeff and Hamish, as well as flirting with “Mrs T” and Edna Mickelson.

They finished eating and sat back to allow their meal to digest. “Let’s not sit in here,” Edna suggested. “Why don’t we have coffee in the lounge.”

“An excellent idea,” her husband agreed. “Now you relax,” he ordered when he saw her start to collect the plates together. “You’ve done enough this evening.”

“Indeed you have,” Jeff agreed. “You’ve outdone yourself, Edna.”

She dimpled at him. “Why, thank you.”

To Bruce’s surprise, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Virgil and Jeff vacated their seats and started to clear away the table. Thinking that it would be good manners to assist he attempted to stand, but found himself held down in his seat by Edna placing her hand on his arm. “You can stay and chat, Bruce,” she teased and her eyes twinkled in the direction of Mrs Tracy who’d drawn her chair close. “You can tell us if Virgil’s got a girlfriend…”

Fortunately for Virgil, he was out of earshot from this conversation. “It’s been a great evening,” he commented to his father. “Bruce nearly didn’t want to come.”

“He didn’t?”

“No,” Virgil rinsed some plates and put them into the dishwasher. “He thought it was bad enough that he was going to have to be on his best behaviour while he dined at the boss’s house, but when he heard you arrive it was all I could do to stop him from running for his life!”

“Am I that frightening?” Jeff asked.

Virgil chuckled. “I don’t think so…” He shut the dishwasher door. “Since I’m your son, can I ask you something to do with ACE, but outside the realm of what someone in my position would normally ask someone in your position?”

“We’ll see.” Jeff replaced the condiments. “Shoot.”

“Why is Max Watts the Production Manager? Why not Greg Harrison? He’s worked for you since you started ACE and he’s got better people skills.”

Jeff thought for a moment. “Okay. I’ll answer you as your father, not as your boss. It’s because Greg Harrison could no more survive the administration tasks associated with the Production Manager’s job than Scott could survive living in Gordon’s bathyscaphe. He’s happier and I get better value for money with him working out on the shop floor. And don’t worry,” Jeff added, “he’s adequately compensated for his years of service. He earns as much as Max Watts… But I never told you that.”

“Understood,” Virgil smiled. “Thanks.”

“Virgil?” Jeff began, wiping down the bench top. “This probably isn’t the right time, but I’ve got to know. How are things between you and John?”

Some of Virgil’s good mood dissipated and he leant against the worktop as he considered his answer. “I honestly don’t know. I haven’t really spoken to him since that phone call. I didn’t even know he could receive emails until Grandma told me last Sunday. After she’d gone to bed I tried to write something and made a mess of it, so I ended up by spending most of the night drawing him a picture and emailing that. I must have fallen into bed at about three a.m. I’d turned off my alarm so it wouldn’t disturb Grandma and the next thing I know she’s asking me if I’m ‘planning on going to work this morning’.”

“Has he responded to your email?” Jeff asked.

“No…” Virgil shook his head. “And it’s been three days. Maybe he’s been too busy.”

Bruce had managed to escape the two women without giving away any of his friend’s secrets, by offering to help with cleaning up. He saw the two Tracy men deep in conversation and, deciding it was a family conference, withdrew without them noticing his presence.

“He’s sent me an email every night,” Jeff admitted. “I think he was going to say something to you before he left, but he was interrupted by Tracey.”

“Has he said anything to you about her and the baby?”

“No.”

Virgil sighed and then gave a wry chuckle. “I thought you said this was going to be a quiet year! So far it’s been anything but!”

Jeff barked out a laugh. “I’ve never admitted to being clairvoyant… I leave that to you and Scott.” Virgil rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Come on. Let’s go enjoy our coffee.”

The other four members of the house party were deep in conversation. “I’ve just been telling Bruce how everyone in our flight applied to get into the space programme but how you were the only one who made it, Jeff,” Hamish admitted. “Who’d you bribe?”

“Bribe?” Jeff smiled as he poured himself a coffee and took a seat. “I couldn’t afford to offer bribes in those days. “Not that that stopped the space agency from taking their pound of flesh. I remember my first day there, all the other recruits had some scientific background and there was me, a poor farm boy from Kansas who didn’t know anyone else and who’s only distinction was that I was good with my hands and I’d managed to survive the Air Force without crashing a plane. I’d had to leave my fiancé behind while I did the initial training and I was feeling very alone. One of the other wannabe astronauts took one look at me and dubbed me ‘Arnold’ after some character in an old black and white TV series from last century…”

“Green Acres,” his mother recollected. “Arnold was the name of the pig.”

“But what really made me feel that I’d probably made the biggest mistake in my life was when one of the lower echelon brass, who more than likely had had even less education than I did, came up to me and said, Look 'ere, Tracy. It’s bad enough y’ve got a girl’s name, but we can't have ya talkin’ to the press like a farm boy. So we're gonna send ya to alleyqueshun lessons.”

Bruce laughed. “Alleyqueshun lessons?”

“That what he called them.”

“I remember,” Grandma said. “My poor boy rang me up in such a state he was practically crying…”

“I was not. Don’t exaggerate, Mother.”

She patted her son’s hand fondly. “They want me to change who I am, Ma, you said. So I told you to do what ever you felt was right. But that you should remember that you were born a Tracy, you were brought up a Tracy, and you would always be a Tracy. No one could take that from you.”

Jeff gave his mother’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “So I took their alleyqueshun lessons, but I refused to let them change my name or who I was. And it’s a rule I’ve tried to live by ever since. I haven’t always succeeded, but I’ve tried to remain true to myself and my upbringing.”

“Yeah, Bruce,” Virgil chuckled. “And if any of us five boys got into trouble, we knew that we’d really overstepped the mark when he’d forget his alleyqueshun lessons and the old Kansas drawl would appear. That was when we knew it was time for the miscreant to start grovelling for forgiveness, while the rest of us made ourselves scarce.” His eyes twinkled at his father. “The last time I heard ‘Kansas’ was on my first day at ACE.”

“Don’t remind me, Virgil,” Jeff growled. “I’ll admit that I overstepped the mark.”

“Not as much as I did,” Hamish Mickelson added. “I’m sorry, Virgil.”

“I’m sorry too,” Bruce said, and everyone looked at him in surprise. “I’m one of the ones who…”

“Bruce,” Virgil interrupted. “You don’t have to…”

“It’s okay, Virgil. They’ve been so nice to me this evening that I feel guilty. Mr Tracy… Mr Mickelson… I’m one of the ones who tricked Virgil into sliding down that conveyor. I’m one of the ones who got him into trouble and got him the final warning.”

Jeff Tracy and Hamish Mickelson glanced at each other and then at Bruce. “Thank you for telling us that, Mr Sanders,” Mickelson said.

“We appreciate your honesty,” Jeff added, and he shared another brief glance with his long-time friend. “And in light of the fact that there have been no further events of that nature, your actions today, and your confession tonight, I don’t think we need to say any more about it.”

Bruce smiled in relief. “Thank you, Mr Tracy.” Then he gave a light frown. “Would you mind if I asked you something?”

“Depends what it is,” Jeff responded genially.

“I’m the president of the social club. Would you ever consider giving us a talk on your life?”

Jeff appeared surprised. “My life?”

“Yes,” Bruce nodded. “Obviously you’re an important man to everyone who works at ACE, and we know what’s been published about your career as an astronaut and how you started your ‘empire’, but we’d love to hear about it from you.”

Jeff seemed taken aback. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Bruce, no one would want to listen to me talk. I haven’t done the speaking circuit in years and I know Virgil would tell you that I wasn’t very good at it.” He looked at his son. “Do you remember how my speech began?”

“I should know, I heard it often enough… I hope you haven’t had too much dessert, Bruce, because you’re about to receive an overdose of saccharine sweetness. Let’s see…” Virgil thought for a moment. “Standing on the moon was the seventh most magical experience in my life. The first was my marriage to my darling wife Lucille, second through to six were the births of my five sons…”

Jeff smiled. “I’m impressed. Do you remember what came next?”

Virgil grinned. “Nope. I usually started daydreaming at that point. After about the third repetition of the same speech and all the rehearsals it got a bit boring.”

Jeff pretended to be miffed as the others laughed. “Charming! So much for familial support.”

Grandma giggled. “You could always ask Gordon to do your talk. Remember that time that he had memorised every line and started to recite it along with you?”

“Putting me off,” Jeff recollected. “He was word perfect, but a beat before me.”

“So you asked him if he wanted to do the speech.”

“And the little monkey did! He had every word, every inflection down pat, though I doubt he was old enough to understand most of it. He even answered all the questions correctly… Until someone asked him what his speaking fees were.” Jeff chuckled.

Grandma winked at Bruce. “You should ask Gordon to do the talk, he’s cheaper than Jeff. He only wanted jelly babies.”

Jeff tapped her on the arm. “I wouldn’t charge the ACE social club.”

“Just as well; they couldn’t afford your going rate. Astronauts didn’t come cheap.”

Jeff continued. “It wasn’t until after I’d sat there and had my thunder stolen by my second-youngest son that I finally managed to get a word in.”

Grandma laughed. “You said that if anyone wanted a transcript of Gordon’s speech you were holding an unused copy.”

“He was too young to read and I’m still amazed that he remembered every word,” Jeff said. “The whole tour was such a whirlwind that I had trouble remembering what day it was.”

“You can blame your blue-eyed boy for putting Gordon up to that stunt,” Virgil informed him. “He was the mastermind.”

“Well, that leaves you out,” Jeff mused. “Which blue-eyed boy?”

“Well… Not wanting to drop him in it… Let’s say neither of your golden-haired sons...”

“Scott!?” Jeff’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope. He was as bored with the whole deal as the rest of us were and we were trying to entertain ourselves before we were paraded out in front of your audience. Gordon started mimicking you and Scott told him that he’d buy him a bag of jelly babies if he’d do his trick in front of the crowd.”

“Ah,” Edna said. “So we can blame Scott for Gordon’s love of practical jokes, can we?”

“Involving my family in the space agency’s publicity is one area where I wish I hadn’t caved in,” Jeff admitted. “I realised early on in the tour that it was a major mistake.” He looked at Virgil. “It’s the principal reason why I’ve kept you out of the limelight…” His phone rang and he frowned in concern. “This is the phone number I gave the hospital. I hope everything’s… Jeff Tracy speaking… Yes, that’s right… I see… I don’t know if I have that kind of influence over him, but I’ll do my best… No, that’s fine. I’m glad to help… I’ll do something right away… Tha… Yes… Thank you very much. Good bye.” He closed his phone. “The medical staff need to treat Lisa, and they want Butch out of the way, but he won’t leave her.”

“Give me that phone,” Grandma held out her hand. “I’ll convince him. Have you got the hospital’s number?”

“Push reply.”

“Thank you.” Grandma pushed the appropriate button and waited. “It’s ringing…” Someone answered and she, via a convoluted version of phone tag, was passed through to the appropriate ward. “Is that you, Cyril?”

Bruce stared at Virgil and mouthed “Cyril?” Virgil grinned.

“Hello, Dear, it’s Mrs T. Virgil’s grandma. I just had to ring to see how poor Lisa is; I’m so worried about her… Is that right…? I’m sure they must have a good reason for wanting you out of the way…” Mrs Tracy listened for a time, making soothing noises, and Virgil was appalled to realise that he could hear the sound of a man crying through the phone’s earpiece. “I know she’s everything to you... But surely that means that you want the best for her…? You heard that nice Mr Tracy say that he was going to pay for the best treatment, but they can’t give her the best treatment if you won’t let them… Now calm down, Cyril… Go and have a cup of coffee and something to eat… I’ll stay the night in town and I’ll come and visit you both tomorrow, and when I get there I want to hear that you have cooperated fully…” Her voice turned stern but loving. “Do you hear me, young man? Good! Then give Lisa a kiss from me, tell her I’ll see her in the morning, and let those nice doctors and nurses do what they have to… Good boy… I’ll see you tomorrow… Good night, Cyril. Give my love to Lisa.” She hung up the phone. “There,” she said in satisfaction. “That’s that!”

“Mother,” Jeff said in wonderment, “you’re a marvel.”

“I’ve had to deal with young men all my life,” she asserted. “If I can handle you, your father and your sons, then I’m sure I can handle Cyril Crump.”

Two hours later and Virgil was back home, glad that he wasn’t needed at work tomorrow. It had been an enjoyable evening, but the excitement of the day was beginning to catch up with him. Before he turned in he decided to see if he’d received any messages since he’d last checked.

It was then that he discovered the email…

Chapter 7: A Quiet Celebration

“To a caring brother and loyal friend,” John’s email began.

“That salutation has to have been the hardest line I’ve ever had to write, Virgil. Harder to compose than anything I’ve written in my books,” Virgil noted the plural. Clearly John had started writing a second. “This email has been sitting on my computer in draft form since long before I got up here to the space station. I’d sit down, read what I’d already written, think ‘what a load of nonsense’, re-write it all and then have to save it again when I was called away. I’ve been trying to think of the words to adequately express the relief I feel that you’re my friend, the gratitude for the support that you’ve given me, and the affection that I have for you. But every phrase I’ve written has seemed trite, condescending and shallow… It still does, but I don’t mean it to be. I mean every word.

“You’ve probably been thinking that I don’t care any more, that all my bitterness and anger has been unfairly and squarely directly at you, but I want… no, I need you to know, that this is not the case. I’ve been trying to tell you this for the past month. I’d ring you at home, but our lives are so busy at the moment that we never seemed to connect. I know I could have left a message on your voicemail, but I wanted to speak to you personally. It’s too late for that now and I know that email is a poor second best, but at this juncture that’s all I have available to me.

When I received your email on Monday and saw the uncertainty in it I wondered if I’d done irreparable damage to our relationship. But then I received the picture you’d drawn and I knew that you were reaching out to me in the best way you could. It was that then I knew I had to act... But even so it still took me three days to get together something halfway respectable. I’m still not happy with what I’ve written, but at least it will give you some idea of the shame I feel.

“I was going to ‘bite the bullet’ and apologise in front of the whole family at that final goodbye before I came up here, but then Tracey…” Virgil felt his pulse quicken at the name, hopeful that he would learn something, “…arrived and I lost the opportunity. As much as I care for her, I couldn’t say what needed to be said in front of her… it would have been hard enough to say in front of the rest of our family.

“And so I’ve decided that it’s time to stop running away from my responsibilities. You deserve an apology and I am going to give you one. It may not be what I envisaged, it may not sound sincere, but I mean it completely.

“I am sorry, Virgil. I am sorry for what I said to you. I am sorry for what I said about you. I am sorry for what I said about our family. I am acutely sorry for all the defamatory things I said about Dad.

“I didn’t mean one word of what I said. I’ve never felt that way about anyone, especially no one in our family. ( I keep on writing my family, but then I have to go back and change it to our family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I love you as I love them all. You are my family and I wouldn’t choose to be part of anyone else’s.)

“I have no real excuse for what I said. At the time it seemed that everything was happening at once, my life was being turned upside-down, and I was losing control. What with my book launch, Tracey’s pregnancy,” another unanswered allusion, “my pending flight to the space station, and IR; I was feeling pulled in all directions and that no one was considering me and what I wanted or needed… I suppose that sounds selfish.”

Virgil didn’t think it sounded selfish. He thought it sounded like a cry for help.

“Well, there’s no easy way of saying it, so here it is…

“Virgil. I am sorry. I am sorry for any pain or discomfort I caused you.”

Virgil took a break from reading to re-evaluate what had been said. He felt happier now. He hadn’t realised the heavy burden he’d been carrying about with him. Events that had happened in the interim had pushed the stresses of that phone call to the background, but still, not knowing what was going on in John’s mind had been wearing him down. He’d often heard of people feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off their shoulders, and now he understood what they meant.

The rest of the email related John’s experiences so far, with humorous recounts of the rocket flight and events on the space station, and Virgil could only admire and envy his brother’s eloquence. But despite all that there was no further mention of Tracey or the baby and no hint as to John’s intentions with regards to International Rescue.

“As you may have guessed, I have started writing another book. I’ve learnt a lot since the first one and believe that number two will be even better. But what would make it perfect would be for you to agree to provide the illustration for the cover.”

Virgil blinked. Illustration? For the cover!? He’d never thought that his artwork could ever be considered good enough for publication. This would take some serious thought and a lot of discussion with John.

“I’ve printed off the picture you’ve emailed me and it now hangs in pride of place above my bed, while an electronic copy is the wallpaper on my computer. Several of the other guys have asked for copies for themselves, but I’m being selfish for once. You drew this for me and I’m keeping it for me.

“Well… The send button for this email should have been pressed weeks ago so I’d better dispatch this before another day passes.

“Keep well and safe.

“Your loving brother.

“John”

Virgil took the time to re-read the email again, before forwarding a judiciously edited copy to his father. Then he pressed reply and sent an email in return, telling John about the Crumps and Grandma’s visit last Sunday, and the drama of earlier today… He checked the time. Yesterday.

When the email was finished he fell into bed, grateful that he did not have to go into work that day.

“Virgil! Bruce!” The voice echoed in the still factory.

Both men turned and smiled when they heard the call. “Lisa!”

“How are you, Honey?” Virgil asked. He’d visited her at the hospital a couple of times, but today, the Monday after she’d been struck down, was the first day that Lisa Crump had returned to work.

Her skin still looked dry, and her eyes red, her husband was hovering at her side as if he expected her to evaporate into a cloud of dust, but apart from that her beauty hadn’t diminished. “I’m fine. The doctors said I could take a couple more days off, but I want everything to get back to normal as soon as possible.”

Bruce’s grin was stretched from ear-to ear. “Get straight back onto the ol’ bike, huh?”

She favoured him with one of her dazzling smiles. “Yes. Plus I know that he,” she gave Butch an affectionate poke in the side, “would do nothing but fret if he couldn’t keep an eye on me. So I’m back at work, on light duties.”

“It’s good to see your back,” Virgil said.

“Yeah. And there’s nothing wrong with your front either,” Bruce teased and then held up his hands in mock surrender. “Joke, big guy,” he informed Butch, who favoured him with an indulgent smile.

Lisa laughed. “We’re glad we caught the pair of you before work, because we have something to ask you.” She nudged her husband. “Go on.”

“Okay…” Butch looked somewhat bashful. “It’s our fifth wedding anniversary on the 25th. We’re havin’ a party ‘n we’d like you both to come. Seein’ as if’n it wasn’t for you two we wouldn’t be havin’ a party.”

Virgil felt a huge smile blossom over his face. “Sounds great! I’d love to come.”

“Yeah,” Bruce added. “Me too. Do you want us to bring anything?”

“No,” Lisa smiled. “It’s all on the invitations which I’ve stupidly left in Butch’s bag. Butch honey, would you go and get them?” Looking like a puppy who’d been given a treat, Butch bounded away and Lisa watched him go before turning back. “Now, while we’ve got a moment alone, can I give you guys some advice? Normally I’d say bring a girlfriend if you want, but some of Butch’s friends are coming and they are… well… let’s say they’re not gentlemen. I can handle them, but unless your lady friends are like me and,” she smirked, “like ‘a bit of rough’, I wouldn’t invite them along.”

Bruce saluted. “Understood, Ma’am.” He batted his eyelashes at Virgil. “You and I can go as partners for the evening.”

Butch returned, holding out two envelopes. “Here’ya’re. It’s gonna be a great evenin’.”

“I’m sure it will,” Virgil remarked, accepting his invitation.

“Actually, Virgil,” Lisa said, and to his surprise she seemed unsure of herself. “You’ve done so much for us that it seems a bit cheeky to ask you this, but we were wondering if you would consider playing our song for us, on the piano.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Virgil responded. “That’s if I know it.”

“You know it. Heard you play it,” Butch informed him and, suddenly, inexplicably shy, dug his toe into the concrete floor. “Love Overcomes all,” he muttered and glared at Bruce as if daring him to laugh.

“Nice song,” Bruce said quickly.

“It was one of my mother’s favourites,” Virgil admitted. It always brought back memories and he’d only played it when he thought no one was listening.

Lisa must have heard the catch of sadness in his voice as she laid her hand on his arm. “Are you sure, Virgil? We don’t want to impose.”

“No,” Virgil smiled at her. “It’d be an honour to play it for you.”

The hooter, calling them to work, sounded and Bruce heaved a dramatic sigh. “Back to the daily grind of yet another uneventful week at ACE. Don’t forget, Lisa, you’ve still got to show us the right way to replenish that welder.” He winked at her and she burst out laughing.

“Virgil…” Lisa Crump caught him by the arm as they headed towards the canteen for their morning tea break.

He smiled at her. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m about to impose again I’m afraid. I wouldn’t bother you, but I don’t know who else I can turn to.”

Virgil frowned. “This sounds ominous. Is everything all right?”

Lisa gave a light laugh, alleviating his fears somewhat. “Everything’s fine… And I want to keep it that way.”

“Then how can I help?”

“This isn’t the time. Can I meet you at your place after work?”

Virgil gave her a sideways look. “After what happened last time, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I don’t have Grandma and her handbag to bail me out if Butch gets the wrong idea again.”

“Don’t worry. As far as you and I are concerned he thinks you’re beyond reproach. I’ve told him that I’m going to ask you to play more pieces for us and I want to work through the programme with you.”

“But that’s not the real reason?”

“I’ll explain it later. Your place at 4.30?”

Virgil had only just made it home in time to hide all evidence of his father and to tidy up a little before Lisa arrived. He made them a coffee and then took a seat opposite her. “Okay. What’s the big mystery that I can help you with?”

Lisa bit her lip as she considered how to begin. “It’s like this… You’ve probably noticed that Butch and I are somewhat of a… shall we say… unlikely couple?”

Virgil gave a wry grin. “I should think that everyone would regard you as a kind of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ combo… Until you get to know Butch.”

“And now you know what he’s really like?”

“I think I’ve got a better idea now, than I did when I first started at ACE.” Virgil chuckled. “Grandma thinks he’s a big pussycat.”

“Your grandmother is a very astute woman,” Lisa smiled. “Unfortunately my family are unwilling to see past the façade that Butch has put up. They think I’ve made a terrible mistake and that I’m throwing my life away on him.” She took a breath. “My parents envisaged me being a famous model, having a successful career, marrying a doctor or a lawyer… Or maybe someone handsome, with tons of money, but absolutely no personality, like one of Jeff Tracy’s sons…”

Virgil choked on his coffee.

“Are you all right?” she asked in concern, patting him on the back as his coughing fit continued.

“Yes,” he managed to gasp. “I’m okay…” He cleared his throat. “Sorry about that. So you’ve met them have you?”

“Who?”

“Jeff Tracy’s sons.”

“Oh, them!” Lisa gave a dismissive wave with her hand. “No. But I know the type. Never had to work a day in their lives and had everything handed to them on a plate.”

“I met Mr Tracy the day you had your accident,” Virgil informed her, phrasing his words with care. “He didn’t seem to be the kind of man who’d spoil his sons. And he was telling us how hard he had to work to build up his empire and how the years after his wife died were a struggle.”

“Well… Maybe Jeff Tracy’s a bad example,” Lisa conceded. “But you know the sort I mean.”

Virgil had met that ‘sort’ and knew exactly what she meant. “So, getting back to the subject in hand… Your parents didn’t take to Butch?”

“No…” Lisa went quiet, cradling her untouched cup in her hands. “They told me that if I continued my relationship with Butch it would either be him or them.” She looked up at Virgil and he saw tears in her eyes. “They disowned me.”

“Oh, heck.” Virgil sat back. He couldn’t imagine loving someone so much that he’d give up his family to be with them… But then again, he couldn’t imagine his family taking such an inflexible stance. “That must be hard.”

Lisa gave a delicate sniff. “It has been. I love Butch, but I still love them. They’re…” another sniff. “They’re my family.”

“I can understand that.”

“Up till now I’ve thought, right! If that’s the way you feel, then fine. I can live without you… But then I had my accident…” Lisa wiped her eyes. “My mother came to visit me in hospital and I realised how much I miss them. I think they had as much of a fright as Butch and I did, so they’ve agreed to come to the party.”

Virgil smiled at her. “Well, that’s positive.”

Lisa managed a smile in reply. “I want this anniversary to go smoothly so that they can see the real, wonderful, caring Butch… And that’s where you come in.”

Acutely curious as to what she thought he could do to help, Virgil said nothing.

“As your grandma said, Butch is a big pussycat, but he’s made mistakes in his past. He was influenced by his family and some of his ‘friends’. I’d rather they weren’t there, but if my family’s coming then I can’t very well tell him not to invite his. And I’ve let him invite three of the senior members of his old gang for ‘old time’s sake’, but they’re the only ones allowed at the party and they’re only allowed to come if they behave themselves.”

“Gang?”

“Yes.” Lisa nodded. “The Skulz.”

Virgil didn’t like the sound of that and was beginning to grow wary. “So… What do you want me to do?”

“Hopefully nothing. But I saw the way you handled Butch, with no fuss and no harm to either of you. Could you keep an eye on things and make sure it all goes smoothly?” Lisa looked at Virgil with pleading eyes. “Please?”

Virgil wasn’t sure he was hearing right. “You want me to be the pianist and the bouncer?”

“Not so much bouncer. But if you could keep your eyes open and try to diffuse any trouble before it starts, even if it means quietly calling the police, I’d be eternally grateful.” Lisa looked grim. “I’ve told Butch that if there’s any trouble, I’m leaving him.”

Virgil was aghast. “You don’t mean that, do you?”

He was horrified to see the tears welling up in her eyes again. “I do. I’m serious! He’s got to realise once and for all that his old gang life is in the past and that I’m not a part of that scene. I’ve given up my family these last five years and I don’t want to have to do it again, but it will happen if he’s still involved with the Skulz. So,” she heaved a shuddering sigh and wiped her eyes. “I’ve told him that either I’m the centre of his world with both our families revolving around us, or I’m not there at all.”

“Lisa, you’ve only got to look at the way that Butch idolises you to know that you’re more important than anything else to him. If you’d died I hate to think what he would have done.”

“I’m not denying that he loves me. I just want him to realise that I can’t be part of a world of violence and drugs and crime.”

“How deeply was he involved?” Virgil asked, still wary.

“Only on the fringes. He hadn’t earned his patch when he met me, but, up until then, being a full member of the Skulz like his family had been, was his only dream and I’m frightened that he’s still holding onto that dream.”

Acting as a security guard was not how Virgil had envisaged spending the night. “Lisa, look I…”

“Please, Virgil…” She placed her hand on his. “There’s no one else I can ask. Imagine Butch’s reaction if I asked a member of my family to do this. And there’s no one in his family that I’d dare to ask. You’re the only person that I trust.”

Virgil sighed and ran his hand through his hair, wondering what he was letting himself in for. “I won’t have to get into any physical confrontations?”

Lisa gave an emphatic shake to her head. “No. Butch assures me that his friends will behave themselves. You’re my insurance policy.”

“Well, I hope I don’t have to pay out.” Virgil nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Lisa beamed up at him. “Thank you.”

But Virgil was wondering what he had let himself in for.

He was still thinking that at lunchtime the following day when he heard Butch call his name.

Virgil gave a quiet groan as he turned. He was beginning to get sick of the Crumps. “Hi, Butch.”

“Hiya, Buddy,” Butch gave him an affectionate but overpowering punch on the arm and Virgil hoped that that was the only bruise that he’d receive from anyone connected with the Crump family. “Can I ask ya a favour?”

Virgil just managed to suppress the second groan. “Depends what it is, Butch.”

“Lisa saw ya yesterday about you playin’ some music at our party.”

Virgil nodded. After the initial disquieting conversation, he and Lisa and picked out a few easy listening pieces that he could play; as much to justify Lisa’s visit as anything. “A couple.”

“Wouldcha mind playin’ one more?”

This sounded more in his line. “Sure,” Virgil replied. “Which one?”

“Somethin’ Good.”

“Somethin’ Good,” Virgil repeated. “I don’t know that one. Who performs it?” Butch mumbled something. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Who?”

“Me.”

Virgil stared at his friend. “Huh?”

“I wanna sing it… I wanna sing it for Lisa.”

“Oh…” Nonplussed for a moment, Virgil froze in thought. “You want to sing it for Lisa? In front of everyone?”

Butch nodded, his normal brash persona disappearing behind a shy caricature of himself. “Lisa likes it when I sing.”

Virgil had gathered his wits together. “I can understand why. I heard you sing to her the other day. You’re good.”

Butch looked even more bashful. “Thanks.”

“Who was the original performer of Somethin’ Good?”

“Maria an’ the Captain.”

Virgil frowned, trying to place the duo. “I don’t think I know them. Can you hum it?”

“‘Kay.” Butch looked about to check that no one was within earshot before he began to sing…

“Perhaps I had a wicked childhood

Perhaps I had a miserable youth

But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past

There must have been a moment of truth”

Virgil’s jaw dropped open. “That Something Good!? From the Sound of Music?!”

Butch nodded. “Yeah. It’s Lisa’s favourite.”

Virgil only just managed to stop himself from shaking his head to clear it. “Okay… I know that one. Do you want to get a couple of rehearsals in before the big night?”

Butch nodded, suddenly eager. “Can I come round t’ your place tonight?”

Virgil sighed. Another night with the Crumps.

Virgil pulled up outside Bruce’s and honked the car’s horn. He’d spent a long time deciding what he was going to wear tonight. Not out of any sense of vanity, but a need to look presentable while still wearing something in which he could move easily in should the worst become the worst. In his mind the Boy Scout motto, be prepared, had a lot going for it.

Much to his disappointment Bruce didn’t waste any time leaving the house and jumping into his car.

“Evenin’” Bruce said brightly.

“Are you in a hurry to get there?” Virgil asked. “I thought you’d be hours yet.”

“Nope. But I know you’re keen to get the lay of the land.” Bruce grinned.

“Thanks.” Virgil’s dour tone matched his mood.

“Hey! Cheer up!” Bruce cajoled. “It might not happen…”

“Yeah…”

“Then again the entire membership of the Skulz might turn up to reclaim their prodigal son.”

Virgil glared at him. “You’re a real comfort.” He continued to moan as Bruce did up his seat belt. “Why’d she have to choose me? I’ve never picked a fight in my life!”

“She picked you because you’ve never picked a fight. She trusts you to not go in with all guns blazing.”

“Yeah… Well…” Virgil agreed grudgingly. “I just know that Gordon’s coming home in two weeks and I’d like to live long enough to see him again.”

Bruce laughed. “Relax! If anything happens I’ll be right behind you…”

“Thanks.”

“…Running in the opposite direction.”

“Do you want to start by walking there!?”

“Okay, okay. Peace.” Bruce held up his hands in surrender. “Boy! You’re in a real ‘party’ mood tonight.”

“You’re surprised?” Virgil switched on the car’s ignition. “I work in a mental asylum and the worst inmates all want to be my friends!”

“Relax, Virgil,” Bruce soothed, suddenly serious. “You’re only imagining the worst. There might be no trouble whatsoever.”

“I hope so.” Virgil hummed a tune and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he set the car in motion.

“What’s the song?”

“Huh? Oh… Something I was playing…” Virgil pushed the play button on his sound system.

“…This is the craziest party there could ever be

Don't turn on the lights, 'cause I don't want to see…

Mama told me not to come…”

“I wish Ma was here to tell me not to go,” Virgil admitted. “I’d be more than happy to listen to her.” He glanced upwards through the windscreen. “Send me a sign, Ma.”

Butch laughed. “If your Mama’s watching over you, I hope she’ll keep an eye on me too...” He listened to the lyrics. “Is there anything you can’t put to music?”

Virgil actually smiled.

Both men were singing “Mama told me not to come” when they pulled up at the small hall that was to be the venue for the Crump’s 5th wedding anniversary party. Still following the Boy Scouts’ motto, Virgil parked so that he could make a quick getaway if necessary. “Are you getting ready in case you’ll need to convert this to an ambulance?” Bruce asked as he exited the car. “Maybe you should fit some jets so that you can take off vertically if you get hemmed in?”

For some reason Virgil found that very funny. He reached behind his seat and pulled out a flask.

Bruce gave it a sideways look. “Some of Grandma’s magic potion, huh?”

Virgil nodded. “I won’t take it in, but I wanted something on hand that I knew was safe.”

“You’re the king of the optimists.”

“Virgil! Bruce!” Lisa rushed out into the car park, extending her hands to greet them. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Not as glad as we are that you’re here.” Virgil winked at her. “I wanted to get here early to make sure that the piano was tuned up.”

“Give us a spin, Lisa,” Bruce made a twirling motion with his finger and she obliged. Tonight, wearing just enough makeup to highlight her beauty, and a torso-hugging, strapless, Flamenco style, crimson dress that flowed out, revealing perfect legs when she spun about, she looked even more like a model than usual. “Wow! You look fantastic. If you ever decide to dump your husband, give me a call… You’re a lucky guy, Butch,” he added when the big man, looking relatively handsome in his suit, ambled over. “Just as well most of the guys from ACE aren’t here drooling over your wife. You’d have to keep mopping up the floor to stop the rellies from slipping over…” Butch gave a smile of quiet pride as he hugged Lisa.

“You do look lovely, Lisa,” Virgil agreed. “Five years of marriage to Butch obviously suits you.”

Her smile broadened and she squeezed her husband about the waist. “I know. I’m very lucky. Why don’t you get Bruce a drink, Honey, and I’ll show Virgil the piano.”

“Okay.” The two men moved off; Bruce humming “Mama told me not to come”.

“What’s the programme?” Virgil asked as Lisa led the way into the hall.

“Half an hour to give everyone a chance to meet and greet, then we’ll have the meal. An hour for that and then the tables will be cleared away. We’ve hired the local sports club to act as waiters. While the tables are being moved is when we’d like you to play those pieces we discussed. I hope you don’t mind, but there will be some noise as the furniture’s moved, but we thought your piano playing would help keep things ticking over during the interruption. Once you’ve played the four pieces that we agreed on…”

“Five,” Virgil thought. “That would be a good time for Butch to sing his love song.”

“…they should have finished clearing up. Then you play ‘Love Overcomes all’.” And then you can relax for the rest of the evening.”

“I hope,” Virgil said, and then wished he hadn’t. “Sorry. Any word from any of Butch’s ex-associates?”

“No.” Lisa appeared to be trying to remain bright and cheerful. “Here’s the piano,” she added as if he’d never seen one before.

Virgil lifted the lid and ran a set of scales up the keys. “It’s usable.” He found one note that was slightly out of tune. “That needs fixing.”

Lisa looked at him with a worried frown creasing her pretty face. “Can you do anything?”

“I thought I might have a few problems…”

“Hey, guys,” Bruce wandered over, carrying two glasses of orange juice, one of which he handed to Virgil. “What’s up?”

“The piano needs a tune, so I’m going to get my tools out of the car,” Virgil told him.

“I’ll leave you boys to take care of that,” Lisa said. “I’m going to check on the food preparations.”

“While we case the joint,” Bruce whispered as he watched her walk away. “Have you really got piano tuning tools in your car?”

“Yep.” Virgil smiled. “I like to be prepared.”

“Boy Scout.”

The first part of the evening went well. Virgil and Bruce were introduced as the two heroes who had saved Lisa’s life. They were gushed over by Lisa’s relatives and treated with deference by Butch’s family and friends, who had taken the request to try to act respectable to heart. They were all wearing their cleanest clothes, some of which appeared to have been obtained from the local second-hand shop. They also had bathed and attempted to tame their wild hair. In some parts of the room the smell of aftershave was almost overpowering.

One of Lisa’s young nephews was wandering around, a video camera glued to his eye and Virgil called him over. “That’s a pretty fancy bit of equipment you’ve got there, Pal.”

“Yeah,” the boy, whom Virgil assumed to be about ten, beamed up at him. “My parents gave it to me for my birthday.”

“You’re lucky,” Virgil enthused. “What’s your name?”

“Jacob.”

“I’ll bet you’re a real pro at editing the final video too, aren’t you, Jacob?”

“Yeah,” Jacob nodded. “I’ve got all the gear. Dad said I can upload it to the Internet when I’ve finished, so that everyone can see it. ”

“That’s great. And you can do fancy effects? Fades and all that?”

“Yep,” the youngster grinned. “No sweat.”

“Then would you do me a favour, Jacob?” Virgil asked. “I know it sounds silly, but I hate being videoed. I’m not going to stop you because I think Lisa and Butch would love to have a record of tonight. But when you make copies, and upload it to the Internet, can you hide my face like they do in the news?”

“Huh?” The kid stared at him.

“I’m sure that someone as clever as you won’t find it any trouble.” Virgil reached into his wallet and pulled out a note. “That’ll help you remember to wipe me from the video.”

Jacob hesitated, looked at the money in Virgil’s hand, and then grinned. “Sure! I can do that for you.”

“Good man.” Virgil patted him on the shoulder.

“What’s this?” Bruce said, having returned from the drinks table. “Bribing innocent youngsters?

“Jacob and I have done a deal,” Virgil explained. “Right, Pal?”

“Right,” Jacob nodded. “Maybe I’ll wipe Butch from the video too.”

“Why would you want to do that?” Bruce asked, taking a seat.

“‘Cause he’s ‘scuzzy’. Dad says so. Ma says Aunty Lisa’s asking for trouble marrying him.”

“Scuzzy?” Virgil stared at the boy.

“I’ll tell you something, Jacob,” Bruce said. “I used to think that Butch was pretty ‘scuzzy’ too.”

Jacob looked up at him in wonder. “You did?”

“Yeah. He frightened me and I thought he was kinda weird with all those ‘tats’ and things. But do you know something?” Bruce leant closer to Jacob. “I never actually tried to get to know him. I never tried to have a conversation with him to find out what he was really like… Do you like cars?”

“Yeah?” Jacob replied, confused by Bruce’s apparent change of direction.

“So do I. And so does Butch. Did you know he’s got a Red-Arrow sportster?”

“He has?!” A light appeared to switch on in Jacob’s eyes.

“He has,” Bruce confirmed. “When I found this out I took the time to sit down and talk to Butch about his Red-Arrow. And do you know what I found out?”

“No?” Jacob’s eyes were wide.

“That he’s actually a pretty interesting guy,” Bruce stated. “And I think he’s quite shy too…”

“Butch?” Jacob’s wide eyes turned to their subject, who was hanging onto Lisa with a goofy smile. She was talking to one of her relatives, but he was saying nothing.

“Yeah. Butch.”

“Do you think he’d talk to me about his Red-Arrow?”

“I’m sure he would if you asked him. He might let you video it. He might even take you for a ride in it. Now that would make an awesome video.”

“Yeah!” Jacob agreed. “It would. ‘Scuse me.” He took off at a run to Butch and said something to the big man. Bruce and Virgil watched as Butch turned, crouched down to listen to the boy and then nodded, his face lighting up.

Virgil gave Bruce a playful punch on the arm. “Nice one.”

“Thanks. Always willing to do my bit for inter-familial relations.”

The meal was over.

“So far so good,” Bruce commented as he followed Virgil over to the piano. “Want me to turn the pages?”

“Can you read music?”

“No.”

“No, thanks.”

The first two numbers were punctuated with a percussion of bangs and scrapes as the youthful members of the sports club removed first the dishes, and then the tables. Virgil carried on playing tune number three and then segued into the fourth. He winked at Butch to let him know that he was on next.

The proud husband escorted Lisa out onto the dance floor. Expecting the opening strains of Love Overcomes all, she was instead surprised to hear a different tune. She was even more astonished, and delighted, when Butch placed his hands about her waist, picked her up, and placed her on a stool.

“Lisa…” Butch began, holding her hands and gazing up at her with rapturous adoration. “My Liesl… I don’ deserve someone as beautiful as you, but f’ five years you’ stood nexta me, an’ cared for me, and loved me. I’m a lucky man, Liesl… an’ I don’t know why…” He began to sing; his rich baritone and Virgil’s piano filling the hall.

“…For here you are, standing there, loving me

Whether or not you should

So somewhere in my youth or childhood

I must have done something good…”

Lisa stood on her pedestal, entranced by this declaration of love, tears of joy on her cheeks. As the last notes tailed off, Butch tenderly lifted her off the stool, “I love you, Lisa.”

“I love you too,” Lisa embraced her husband. “Thank you.”

The hall erupted into cheers and applause and Virgil began playing Love Overcomes all as they kissed. The noise was so loud that he almost didn’t hear Bruce’s “Uh oh.”

Virgil glanced at the guests of honour in time to see them both look towards the door; Lisa’s face falling, while Butch’s lit up in delight. Twisting around on the piano stool, Virgil saw why.

Standing at the door to the hall, clapping in a slow rhythm which suggested irony rather than appreciation, were a group of bikers.

“Looks like you’re on,” Butch whispered.

That thought had gone through Virgil’s mind too. He stood and, trying to remain pleasant and non-threatening, approached the interlopers. As he drew close he gained a new appreciation of deodorant and aftershave, as these visitors had made no effort to dress, or wash, for the occasion. “Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, plastering a smile on his face.

“We’re ‘ere to congratulate Butch an’ his misses,” one of them, their leader, stated.

“This is a private party,” Virgil continued gamely. “Do you have invitations?”

“Don’t he talk nice?” An underling sneered.

“This is my invitayshun.” Leader punched his right fist into his left hand. “Outta my way.” He pushed Virgil aside, giving him a clear view of the scowling skull on the back of his leather jacket, and marched over to the Crumps. But, before he could reach his goal, he was intercepted by his three, invited, colleagues.

“Get outta here, Muzz,” the eldest said. “You’re not welcome.”

“Sez who?”

“Sez us,” invitee number two claimed.

Muzz leered over their shoulders to where Butch and Lisa were standing. “Hiya, Babe.” His eyes roved over her body and Lisa shrunk back to hide behind her husband.

“That’s enough, Muzz,” invitee number one stated. “Get out.”

“But the party’s only just started,” Muzz sneered. “I wanna dance with the luvli Lisa.”

“Come outside.” Butch stepped forward and shared a gangland handshake with Muzz. “We’ll talk there.”

Virgil saw Lisa, looking mortified at what was happening, turn away from her husband. The Skulz and Butch, talking with much enthusiasm and not much decorum, headed out to the car park. Thinking that this probably wasn’t the brightest thing he was ever going to do, Virgil followed, stopping just inside the front door so he could spy on events outside.

A crowd of patched gang members were lolling about in the yard. One was sitting on the bonnet of Virgil’s car, drumming his heels against the side. Some were drinking, some were talking to their friends, and some were passing about something that Virgil was pretty sure wasn’t legal. He put through a precautionary phone call through to the police.

…And then jumped when someone came up behind him. “Trouble?” Bruce asked.

“Not yet. And not if I can help it.”

“I’m right behind you, Virgil.”

“Thanks, Bruce.”

“Virgil.” Virgil turned to Lisa who appeared to be trying to hold back tears. “You won’t let them do anything, will you?”

Virgil gestured to the gang of Skulz congregating outside around their motorbikes. “There must be at least 20 of them, Lisa.”

“At least get Butch out of there,” she pleaded.

Virgil sighed. “I’ll do my best.” He stepped out into the cold glow of the street lights, wishing that he had his four muscular brothers as backup. Not a skinny friend humming “Mama told me not to come”.

Muzz nudged Butch. “Here’s ya tame poodle, Bro. I hope ya can stop ‘is yappin’. Otherwise we’ll ‘ave to muzzle ‘im.”

Years of teasing from his brothers had made Virgil immune to such taunts. “I’m just here to tell you fellas that I’ve called the police and they’re on their way. We don’t want any trouble.”

“Police?” Butch looked hurt. “But these guys won’t cause trouble. Will ya, Muzz? They’re my friends.”

“If they are your friends, Butch, then they’ll leave straight away. And once they’re gone I’ll call the police off.” Virgil held up his mobile phone. “How about it?”

“How about we show you what we think of ya fancy phone?” Muzz asked and snatched the mobile out of Virgil’s hand. One steel-pointed toe, jack-booted heel later, and the delicate electronics lay scrunched into the concrete of the car park.

“That wasn’t very clever,” Virgil said. “I can’t stop the police now.”

“Why’d you call the police, Virgil?” Butch whined. “M’ pals just wanted to wish me an’ Lisa happy anniversary.”

“Virgil?” Muzz barked out a laugh and his cronies obediently joined in. “What kinda name is ‘Virgil’? Jus’ the kinda name I’d ‘xpect a poodle like ya to ‘ave.”

Virgil ignored him. “The police will be here soon. Are you going to leave now or spoil Butch’s party by creating a scene?”

“Whad is it, Butch?” Muzz asked. “Ya gonna listen to the poodle or to me?”

Caught between his loyalties to his old friends and his new one, Butch hesitated.

As one, the Skulz took a menacing step forwards, their focus on Virgil; who wished the police would hurry up and get there.

Lisa stepped out of the hall. “Butch,” she called. “Will you come inside, please?”

There were catcalls from the Skulz. “Why don’ ya come out ‘n join us, Lisa?” Muzz leered. “We’ll show ya a real good time… Right, Boys?” His subordinates laughed but Virgil felt the atmosphere change. He tried to relax; aware that there was trouble brewing.

“No,” Lisa said, her voice firm although Virgil thought he could see her trembling. “Come inside, Butch.”

More catcalls.

“Go on, Butch,” Virgil suggested. “You don’t want to spoil Lisa’s evening.”

“You shut ya trap, poodle!” one of the gang members snarled and Virgil parried a punch. “Get ‘im!”

“Don’t hurt him!” Butch roared.

Virgil wasn’t sure if that directive was levelled at him or his attacker, but three members of the Skulz decided Butch was on their side. He defended himself against the first two, but didn’t have the chance to ready himself before the attack by the third. He hit the ground hard, the skin by his left eye throbbing and the sensation of something warm and wet running down his cheek. He rubbed at it and his hand came away red.

Blood.

There was a moan, a muffled cry, and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. Butch having seen blood, had keeled over; managing to squash one of his ex-associates in the process.

“Butch!” Lisa ran forward to her husband’s aid.

Muzz seized the moment… and Lisa, who screamed. “C’mon, Sweetheart. Lemme show ya what a real man can do.”

Virgil got back to his feet, but it was Bruce who made the first move. “Leave her alone!” He demanded as he charged at Muzz, shouldering the gang leader away from Lisa who fell backwards onto the ground.

“Think yi’re gonna stop me, worm?” Muzz jeered at Bruce, who was dancing around, his fists raised. “C’mon. Do ya worst!”

Virgil helped Lisa to her feet. “Get out of here!” he ordered.

“But Butch…”

But it wasn’t Butch who was in trouble. A blow to the head had sent Bruce staggering. He collapsed to the ground and lay there as a knife seemed to appear out of thin air. Muzz stood over Bruce’s prone body, ready to exact his revenge.

Working as much from instinct as conscious thought, Virgil took one step and, with a roundhouse kick, sent the knife flying from Muzz’s hand. There was a cheer from somewhere in the vicinity of the hall.

Snarling, Muzz turned on Virgil. “You’re dead meat, poodle!”

Virgil hoped not.

His diversion came from an unexpected quarter. Wondering what was happening outside that was so interesting; Butch’s relatives had left the party. They saw their kin regaining consciousness on the ground, decided that he’d been attacked, and with no regard as to whom the culprit could be, dived into the melee.

Virgil dodged an attack from one gang member, parried a second’s blow, and then had to roll out of the dangerous manoeuvre when a third managed to tip him headfirst towards the concrete. He was still down when he realised that Muzz was once again moving in on a groggy Bruce, preparing to plant one of those villainous pointed-steel toecaps into his friend’s soft belly. Virgil rolled closer and kicked out; knocking Muzz’s other leg out from under him.

There was another cheer from the hall.

Virgil leapt to his feet to dodge an attack from Muzz’s supporters and wondered what was taking the police so long to arrive.

If it was hectic before, it was mayhem now. Carrying various bits of weaponry, Skulz appeared to rush at Virgil from all directions. Butch was screaming insults and threatening personal injury on any person who harmed a member of his family or friends. Lisa was trying to assist Bruce to safety, but was hindered by her long skirt, high heels, and by the way his legs appeared to have turned to jelly.

And Virgil was fighting for his life.

Kicking here, elbowing there, a blow to a throat, a knee to a groin, using nearly every trick he’d learnt from Kyrano’s martial arts classes; Virgil tried not to let the gang get the upper hand, but he was fighting a losing battle against insurmountable numbers. His efforts earned him some painful blows to the body, one of which landed squarely on his solar plexus: leaving him doubled over, gasping for breath. It could have been the end had Butch not finally decided where his loyalties lay and charged at Virgil’s attacker; punching him to the ground, before turning on his associates. It was during that brief respite that Virgil saw Muzz retrieve his knife and once again advance on Bruce and Lisa. “Bruce!” he gasped. “Behind you!”

Bruce turned and saw the knife. Gallantry overcoming sanity, he placed himself between the weapon and Lisa. “Leave ‘er ‘lone,” he slurred.

“Oh ho!” Muzz jeered. “Big guy, huh?” He took a step forward, holding the knife in a manner that suggested that he was experienced in its use. “Let’s see how big ya are… spread out all over the ground.”

Realising that her protector was in no shape to deal with an armed thug, Lisa pulled Bruce back. “You leave him alone!” she snarled at Muzz.

Virgil sent one Skulz flying into another.

“Ya know you’re beautiful when ya’re angry, Liesl,” Muzz teased.

“Don’t call me that!” she hissed. “Only Butch calls me that.”

“Liesl, Liesl, Liesl,” Muzz taunted.

Bruce hefted up a piece of wood, which appeared to weigh heavy in his hands. “Stand back, Lisa,” he ordered as he eyed their aggressor and the knife. “Don’ come any closer… Punk.”

Butch let loose an upper-cut that launched a Skulz skyward.

“Punk?” Muzz stared Bruce down. “A worm like you calls me ‘Punk’? Time you were taught a lesson…” He lurched forward, the knife in his hand extended towards Bruce’s heart.

Virgil drove his elbow into a Skulz throat and the man staggered back, gasping.

Butch punched a Skulz on the side of the head, sending teeth flying.

Lisa screamed.

Bruce stared at his piece of wood, which had a long, sharp knife embedded in it. He gulped… and fainted.

Muzz grabbed Lisa who screamed again. “Butch! Help me!”

Her husband heard her cry. He turned and saw Lisa struggling in the arms of his ex-friend. Letting out a roar, he charged through gang members who fell by the wayside like wheat in a field. “You’re dead, Muzz!”

Virgil heard the scream and the echoing shout. He saw Lisa’s struggles and Bruce out on the ground. Then he lost sight of them both as a bruiser of a man attempted to head-butt him. He ducked and the bruiser slammed his head into the head of another Skulz who’d sneaked up behind. They both collapsed to the ground.

Leaping over the bruiser, Virgil took off to Lisa’s aid.

Not that she needed it. Muzz let out a scream of pain as Lisa’s stiletto heel gouged down his shin. Freed from his clutches, Lisa attempted to run, but her weapon had become her Achilles heel as her stiletto snagged in the top of Muzz’s boot and she pitched forward; skidding along the ground.

If Muzz had any intention of gaining retribution, his plans were thwarted when Butch mowed him down. Screaming abuse, the angry man landed one blow and then another on the gang boss who tried ineffectually to defend himself. Fearful that Butch might end up facing a murder charge, Virgil pulled him off. “Butch!”

“Lemme at ‘im!”

“Go look after Lisa!”

“Lisa?”

“Yes! Lisa!” Virgil kicked out at a thug who was bearing down on them.

Butch looked down at his wife, saw that her make-up was ruined and her dress torn. “Lisa?”

“Oh, Butch. Why’d you have to join them…?”

Virgil turned his attention to Bruce. His friend was sitting on the cold concrete staring at a knife sticking out of a piece of wood and giggling hysterically. “Bruce?”

“Gottem,” Bruce giggled. “Gottem good.”

Virgil was attacked again. A rock hard arm across his throat sent him flying, gulping for air, to the ground. Ugly faces and hard fists and feet bore down on him, landing blow after painful blow. He fought them, but was almost ready to accept that there was no escape when his assailants fell back revealing a cool, starry sky. Bruised and bleeding he got to his feet and tried to steady himself, ready for the next attack. Someone grabbed his arm and Virgil spun about, fist ready to throw a defensive punch. He stopped himself just in time and let his hand drop to his side.

“Smart boy,” the policeman said. “You’re under arrest.”

It was only then that Virgil became aware that the car park was filled with flashing lights and uniformed men.

“Let me get this straight,” the cop said, glaring at Virgil over the desk. “You told me that your name’s Tancy. But now you’re saying it’s really Tracy?”

Virgil nodded, feeling his stiff neck muscles complain. He’d already had paid a visit to the police surgeon, who’d pronounced no long term damage, followed by an humiliating session having every cut, graze and bruise photographed and recorded. “Yes. I work for Aeronautical Component Engineering, which is owned by my father. I don’t want my work colleagues to treat me any different to anyone else, so I’m using the alias of Tancy. Bruce Sanders was the only one at the party who knows who I really am.” He sat forward, feeling more complaints from his body. “How is Bruce?”

“Gone for a scan.”

“What? Why?!”

The policeman, name Villanueva according to the label on his chest, ignored Virgil’s concerns. “So you’ve been lying to us?”

“Well…” Virgil had a bad feeling about this. “Technically, I suppose you could say, ‘yes’. But I did mention it as soon as I was alone with a member of the police force. Look…Check my wallet. It’s got my identification. Driver’s licence… Pilot’s licence…”

The cop seemed uninterested as he made a few notes on his charge sheet. “You said your father owns Aeronautical Component Engineering?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And his name is…”

Virgil stared at the man. Normally the combination of the names Tracy and ACE would be enough to start lights flashing. “Jeff, ah, Jefferson Tracy.”

“Jefferson… Tracy…” Villanueva wrote, not showing any signs of recognition at the name. “He’ll confirm your story?”

“Yes. Look, I’m the one who called the police in the first place. I was fighting but it was in self-defence. It was the Skulz who started it.” Virgil was ignored again.

Villanueva reached into a case and removed a flask inside an evidence bag. “Do you know what this is?”

“Yes. It’s mine. I took it to the party in case I had any concerns about what was in the drinks available.”

“What is in this flask?”

Feeling bemused by this line of questioning, Virgil had to stop and think. “Fruit juice.”

Villanueva frowned. “Fruit juice?”

“Yes. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. It’s a mixture of fruit juices and some spices.”

“I think you ought to be warned that the contents of this flask have been sent for analysis.”

“Analysis?”

“Yes.”

“For drugs?”

“Yes.”

“In Grandma’s fruit juice?” Virgil started to laugh, but the pain from his split lip pulled him up short. “Ow… That’s ridiculous…! Look, you said that I need a lawyer.”

“Yes.”

“How about my friends? Will Bruce?”

Villanueva checked his notes. “That would be Bruce Sanders?”

“Yes.”

“He does.”

“Does Butch?”

The notes were checked again. “Butch?”

“Butch Crump… No, hang on. His first name’s really Cyril.”

Virgil found himself under Villanueva’s scrutiny again. “Is he the son of the owner too?”

“No. Butch is his nickname… I don’t know if he’s changed it legally.”

“Cyril Crump…” Villanueva went through the list of miscreants. “Yes, he’s here.”

“How about Butch’s, ah, Cyril’s wife, Lisa?”

“There are no women under arrest.”

Virgil let out a sigh of relief. “Can my lawyer act for all three of us?”

Villanueva fixed Virgil with a level stare. “Does this mean that you are not requesting the courts to appoint a lawyer to represent you?”

“That’s right. Can I make a phone call to arrange it?”

“Brown,” Villanueva turned to the policeman standing in attendance at the doorway. “Escort Mr ‘Tracy’ to the phone and let him make his call.”

“Yes, Sir.”

But it wasn’t a lawyer’s number that Virgil dialled and he had to wait some time for the phone to be answered. “Hi, Father.”

“Virgil?” Jeff was sounding half-asleep. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Ah, yeah.” Virgil had only just realised. “Sorry, but I need your help.”

“It’s not John again is it?”

“No…”

“One of the others?”

“No. I…”

“Then this had better be important. I’ve had a busy day.”

“I know, and I’m sorry that I have to call.”

“Well,” Jeff growled, “what is it?”

“I’m…ah…” Virgil had been so sure that his father would understand his predicament and know that he was innocent, that he’d had no hesitation in making the phone call. But now, when it was actually time to make the request…

“Virgil?”

“I’m under arrest,” Virgil admitted, and waited for the reaction.

It was a long time in coming as Jeff tried to get his head around what had been said. “You’re what?”

“In police custody. I need a lawyer.”

“You’re – under – arrest?”

“Yes.”

“You?!”

“Yes, Father.”

“Virgil?”

“Yes.”

“Has Gordon put you up to this?”

“Father…”

“All right, Virgil. I know that was a stupid thing to say. But I just can’t believe it.” Jeff sighed, now fully awake. “What are the charges?”

“Uh… Disorderly conduct… Assault and battery…”

“What!!!”

“I’m innocent! But I need legal representation.”

“I’m sure you do.” Jeff sounded grim and Virgil started to wonder if his father was as trusting as he’d assumed.

“Um… Can I ask a favour?”

“Apart from getting bailed out of jail?”

“Uh, yeah. Can the lawyer represent Bruce and Butch too?”

“Bruce Sanders and Butch Crump?”

“Yes. I’ll pay you back!”

“Virgil, even with the retainer I’m paying you, you could never afford my lawyers, especially at the rate I’m going to be charged for their being called out at this hour…” Another sigh. “Give me the necessary details…”

When Virgil hung up the phone he was escorted, not to a cell, but back to the interview room, which had been deserted by Villanueva. As he waited on the uncomfortable seats, trying to work out which part of his abused body hurt the most, he idly wondered if he was confined in here because the Tracy name had finally rung some alarm bells, or because the cells were full of Skulz…

…And Bruce and Butch.

It must have been at least an hour; Virgil had no way of telling since the remains of his broken watch had been confiscated by the police, before the lawyer arrived. The man was dressed impeccably, showing no signs of having been dragged out of his bed at an unearthly hour by one of the world’s richest men. He gave a cold nod. “Mr Tracy. I am Mr Kirby.”

Virgil had stood in greeting. “Pleased to meet you, Sir.”

Kirby gestured for him to be seated, which Virgil did with a grimace. “You are in pain?”

“A little discomfort,” Virgil admitted. “It’s Bruce I’m worried about. All they’ve told me is that he was having a scan. Have you heard if he’s all right?”

“That is Mr Sanders?”

“Yes.”

“Mr Sanders has sustained a mild concussion.” Kirby dismissed Virgil’s concerned reaction. “Perhaps we could begin by you telling me exactly what happened tonight?”

Trying to remember all the events systematically and clearly, Virgil recounted everything from Lisa’s request for his help to the moment that he’d been taken away in a police car.

Kirby nodded, still stiffly formal in his suit and tie. “Very good. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and consult with my colleagues who are in discussion with Mr Sanders and Mr Crump.” He stood, nodded again to Virgil, and then was allowed by the watching policeman to depart the room.

Half an hour later Virgil was escorted to another interview room. “Bruce!”

Bruce lifted his head from where he’d been resting it on his arms on the table. “Hiya, Virgil. Thanks for getting me the lawyer.” He frowned. “You look worse than I feel.”

“I’m okay.” Trying not to display signs of pain, Virgil took the seat next to his friend. “Are you all right?”

“Mild concussion. They tell me that if I get plenty of rest I’ll be okay.” Bruce sighed. “I’ve never had to report in sick in my life and now I’m going to be on leave for at least the next week.”

“At least that’s all. You had me worried when I saw you out cold on the ground.”

“I was…?” Bruce shook his head slowly. “I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything after we left the hall. Not until I found myself being examined by the doctor.”

Virgil felt the wave of guilt build inside of him. “I’m sorry, Bruce. This is my fault. I shouldn’t’ve…”

“No, it’s not,” Bruce interrupted. He gave a wan smile. “Not unless you’re the one who hit me on the head.”

“No. That was Muzz.”

“What happened?”

The door was opening. “I’ll tell you when you’re feeling better…”

Butch was led into the room by two enormous policemen. Now that the adrenaline had drained out of his system he looked to have shrivelled a couple of sizes. He collapsed into a chair. “Hi, Guys.”

“Hi, Butch.”

Butch stared at his hands. “Whata way t’ spend ya anniversary.”

“Have you spoken to Lisa?” Virgil asked.

Butch gave a slow nod. “When th’ lawyer showed up, I used m’ phone call to ring ‘er. She’s gonna pick us up. She’s hoppin’ mad.”

Virgil wasn’t surprised, but refrained from comment.

The door opened again and three men entered the room. One was Mr Kirby and Virgil assumed that the other two were his associates. “Bail has been posted,” Mr Kirby announced. “Your father, Mr T… Virgil,” he amended giving the smallest of smiles, “has paid the bond. You are free to go on the condition that you do not leave the city until after the initial hearing. Is that understood?”

Virgil thought of Gordon’s homecoming party at the family home, in another state, and his heart sank. But he nodded his agreement.

“Good. I believe that your wife is waiting for you, Mr Crump.”

Lisa was waiting for them and she looked to have been waiting for a long time. She still wore her dress from the night before, which, in the cold lights of the police station foyer, Virgil could see was torn and filthy. Her mascara had run, a sure sign that she’d been crying, but at present her lips were a thin furious line.

“Liesl …” Butch began.

“Don’t you Liesl me,” she hissed. “Get outside and into that car!”

Virgil was feeling as guilty as Butch looked. After all, he’d promised that he’d try to prevent trouble: not be part of it. “I’m sorry, Lisa.”

“This isn’t your fault,” she snapped as they stepped outside into the full light of day. “It’s my husband’s!” She glared at Butch and Virgil got the impression that the four of them in one car would not make for a comfortable journey.

“Look, it’s been a long night and you must be beat, Lisa.” He gave an ingratiating smile. “Why don’t you and Butch go straight home. Bruce and I can take a taxi.”

Bruce must have been sharing similar thoughts. “Good idea, Virgil.”

Butch knew his wife well enough to realise that he was in big trouble, and that his only buffer against the storm was about to desert him. “We can’t let th’ guys do that, can we, Lisa?”

“I’m sure Virgil and Bruce quite capable of finding their own way home.” Lisa stopped by the driver’s door to the car. “Get in, Butch.”

“But, Lisa…”

“Get in!”

Butch got in.

Virgil and Bruce waved the Crumps goodbye before Virgil turned to his friend. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I’ve already risked my neck once in the last 24 hours and I didn’t fancy doing it again.”

There was a taxi waiting and both men climbed in wearily. Virgil gave the driver Bruce’s address. “Hey!” Bruce exclaimed. “What are you doing? I thought you’d want to go get your car.”

“That can wait. You need to get some rest.”

It was a quiet trip back to Bruce’s home. Once there Virgil paid off the taxi driver and then assisted his friend inside.

It was another hour before he made it back to the car park that had been the scene of the fight. His car remained there, alone and looking like it was going to need a lot of body work. Sighing in exasperation, wondering if he could report the crime, Virgil let himself into the vehicle, glad that he didn’t have to rely on keys for entry. Every bone in his body yearning for rest, he took himself off home.

Chapter 8: A Quiet Separation

It was mid-Sunday morning by the time Virgil parked his battered car in the garage and then dragged his battered body into his house.

“Euterpe,” he crooned, dropping his jacket on the floor, pulling his shirt over his head, and kicking his shoes off as he staggered towards his bed. “…Sing to me Morpheus’ lullaby.” He collapsed facedown onto the bed and then wished he hadn’t as his body complained. Hugging one soft pillow against his abused torso he nuzzled into the second downy soft haven of bliss…

The phone rang.

Virgil pulled his pillow over his head. “Go away.”

*Ring. Ring.*

“Leave me alone.”

*Ring. Ring.*

“I don’t want to talk to you!”

*Ring. Ring.*

Virgil pulled the pillow down tighter over his ears, but the phone’s persistent ringing still penetrated the downy cushioning. Surrendering to the insistent chime, Virgil groaned before rolling over and sitting up. “Okay… I’m coming…”

*Ring. Ring.*

“I said I’m coming!” Virgil eased himself with care into the seat by the phone and, making sure it was set to ‘sound only’, answered the call. “Hello.”

“Virgil? It’s Wayne Morris from the medical school. Are you all right?”

“Yeah…” Virgil replied, feeling anything but and wondering how his tutor had found out about last evening’s catastrophe.

“Only it’s 9.30 and you’re not here yet. That’s not like you…”

“Not here?” Virgil frowned, trying to make his tired brain comprehend.

“For your final examination.”

“What!” Virgil switched the on the video so he could see Wayne’s face. “Exam! Oh, heck!” He slumped in his chair. “I forgot it was today.”

“Virgil!” Wayne stared at Virgil’s facial bruises and lacerations. “What’s happened to you? Are you all right?!”

Virgil gave him an abbreviated version of events. “When I accepted I thought I’d be able to leave early. Even when she asked me to help I honestly didn’t think I’d be out late last night. Well… Not this late.” Virgil ran his hand though his hair. “I’ve only just got home…!” He thought briefly. “If I leave now I should be there by ten…”

“No. Don’t,” Wayne instructed. “You look shot,” and Virgil had to admit that that was an accurate description of the way he was feeling. “I don’t want you having an accident trying to get here on time and I doubt that you’re feeling up to being quizzed today. Let me talk to the examiner. It’s not standard practice, but seeing as you’ve attended every class and,” here Wayne gave a wry smile, “you’ve already passed one practical test under pressure, I might be able to get you an extension. No promises though.”

“Thanks, Wayne.”

“Besides,” Wayne’s grin broadened. “If you did turn up, the other students might think that fixing you up is part of the examination.” He lost his smile. “Leave it with me, Virgil. Don’t worry about anything, and I won’t call you again until tomorrow. You look like you need a full day’s rest.”

“Thanks, Wayne,” Virgil repeated. “I appreciate this.”

“No worries. Take care and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Virgil disconnected the call and dragged himself with bed, this time lying down with more circumspection. “Ahhh… Bliss…”

*Ring. Ring.*

“I don’t believe this.”

*Ring. Ring.*

“I thought Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest!”

*Ring. Ring.*

Virgil threw his pillow at the phone.

*Ring. Ring.*

Deciding he’d deal with this call and then throw the phone out the window, Virgil hauled himself back over to the instrument. This time he couldn’t be bothered switching off the video feed. “Yeah?”

“Virgil…!” Jeff’s mouth had dropped open at the first glimpse of his son. “Are you all right?”

“If I was awake enough to think up a suitable response to that, I would!”

“I’m sorry,” Jeff responded. “It was a stupid question.”

Virgil sighed. “Not as stupid as the answer. I’m okay. I’m tired and I’m sore, but that’s all. There’s nothing seriously wrong with me that a good sleep won’t help to fix.”

“Bill Kirby told me you’d been released, so I thought I’d call. But he didn’t tell me that you were in that state. Look, go back to bed and call me when you wake up…”

“No, it’s okay, Father.” Virgil responded, feeling ashamed about the way he’d answered the phone. “Thanks for arranging legal representation.”

“That’s okay. How did you find Bill?”

“I think he initially had me pegged as some spoilt rich kid who thought I could get away with anything because Daddy would bail me out. When he realised I was simply defending myself and the others he became more approachable.”

“That’s good. He’s a top man.”

“He’d have to be to be on your payroll… I suppose you want to hear my version of events?”

“If you’re up to it.”

By the time Virgil had finished retelling the tale in more detail than he’d told Wayne Morris, Jeff’s lips were pursed together in an angry thin line. “And those cops think that you weren’t acting in self-defence?”

“Yeah. Like I’m stupid enough to take on an entire gang almost single handed. Bruce tried to help and nearly got himself stabbed.”

“Is he okay?”

“Mild concussion, but yeah, he’s gonna be okay. But you’re going to be short a staff member for the next few days.” Virgil attempted a stretch to work out some of the kinks, and then decided it wasn’t a good idea. “Better make that two tomorrow.”

“I’ll let Hamish know.” Jeff paused. “Are you sure you’re okay? If you want I could fly out, or else Grandma…”

“No, I’m fine,” Virgil interrupted. “I just need some sleep. I’m so tired that I’d forgotten that my final exam was today until Wayne Morris rang up to see why I wasn’t there. He’s going to see if I can take the test on a later date.”

“Well, if you can’t, don’t worry. You don’t need a piece of paper to prove to me that you can do the job. You’ve already shown you’re more than capable.”

“I don’t like the idea of being the only one without formal certification.”

“You might not be. Alan hasn’t re-sat his exam yet.”

“He didn’t pass?” This was news to Virgil. When he’d asked his youngest brother how it had gone Alan had responded with an airy “no problems”.

“He’s too busy living the fast life before thinks he has to settle down,” Jeff growled. “Talking of Alan, do you want me to tell your brothers what happened last night?”

“Just so long as you tell them that I’m okay and not to bother phoning me. I’m taking the phone off the hook.”

Jeff gave a grim smile. “That’s a good idea, Virgil. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Father.”

‘Call Ended’ appeared on the videophone’s screen and Virgil pushed the button that transferred all incoming calls directly to his answer-phone. Then he, yet again, stood and tottered towards his bed…

The doorbell rang.

“Somebody up there hates me,” he muttered. “And if it’s a Crump behind that door they’re going to be sorry!”

It was a Crump. But before Virgil was able to shut Butch out, the big man staggered forward. “She’s gone,” he moaned, and practically collapsed into Virgil’s arms.

Virgil winced at the sudden application of weight and tried not to moan in pain. “Who’s gone?” he asked, disentangling himself from Butch’s grasp and leading him over to a chair. He picked his bloodied shirt up from where he’d abandoned it on the floor and hurriedly bundled it up into the laundry basket.

“Lisa,” Butch sniffed.

“Gone where?” Virgil pulled a polo-neck shirt out of his drawer and pulled it over his head, trying not to look at the injuries to his torso.

“Away… She’s left me!” Butch’s face crumpled and a waterfall of tears gushed from his eyes. “Sh-Sh-Sh,” he gasped for air. “She says she’s gone for good.”

“Oh,” Virgil responded, his face grim. It seemed that Lisa had kept her word. “I’m sorry, Butch.”

“WhaddamI gonna do without her? I love her.”

“I know you do.”

“Id’s my fault.”

Agreeing with him didn’t seem to be the most sensible thing to do. “You weren’t to know that the Skulz were going to start a fight.”

“Thad Muzz…” Butch sniffed. “Didya see whad he was gonna do to her? My Lisa…? Lisa…” he moaned and a fresh cascade of tears flooded down his cheeks.

Virgil was at a loss. Dealing with overgrown, love-struck, bawling men was way outside his realm of experience. This was not a rescue that he’d ever envisaged International Rescue performing. “Ah… Would you like a coffee?” Without waiting for an answer he went into the kitchenette and started making a drink, tipping the remainder of his weekend’s supply into Butch’s cup. “Do you want sugar?”

“I want Lisa back…”

As he waited for the water to boil, Virgil tried to think of something intelligent to say. “Do you know where she might have gone?”

“P’rhaps her mother’s. Bud I rang there!”

“And she wasn’t there?”

“Dunno. Mrs Riley slammed the phone down. WhadamI gonna do, Virgil? I can’t go home. Not when it’s empty. Nod when Lisa’s not there.”

Virgil wasn’t about to offer to let him stay in his apartment. He only had the one bed and that was earmarked for his own use… as soon as possible. “Haven’t you got a friend you can stay with?” he asked as he handed over a steaming hot cup of coffee. “At least until Lisa’s cooled down and you two can talk.”

“No.” Butch let rip with a sniff that could have sucked the pile off Virgil’s carpet. “I don’ have any friends. I thought the Skulz waz my friends an’ look whad they did! I got nowhere to go.” He looked beseechingly at Virgil who did his best not to weaken.

Virgil sat on the edge of his bed, barely touched since the day before. “Are you sure there’s no one? No one in your family you can ask?”

“No.” Butch drained his cup, seemingly impervious to the heat, and held the empty mug out. “’Nother?”

“Yeah, sure… Uh,” Virgil remembered the empty canister. “But I haven’t got any more. I’ll have to go to the shops and get some. Do you want to wait here until I get back…? I won’t be long.”

Butch gave such a forlorn nod that Virgil felt a pang of guilt. He ran his fingers through his hair and his eyes fell on one of his photographs. “I know! Would you like to talk to Grandma?”

“Mrs T?” Butch looked brighter. “She in town?”

“No, but I can get her on the phone. Here…” before Butch had the opportunity to change his mind, Virgil slid in front of his videophone and pressed the speed-dial, making sure the video link was set for sound only.

“Virgil! I’ve been trying to ring you and all I’m getting is your voicemail. Are you all right? Your father told me about last night. What happened? Are you hurt? Are the police going to lay charges…?”

Virgil stopped his grandmother’s flow of questions. “I’m fine, Grandma. I’ll tell you all about it later. But would you mind talking to Butch?”

“Butch? Why? Where is he?”

“He’s here. Lisa’s left him…”

“Oh, my! Put him on, Virgil… And put the video on; I want to see him.”

Virgil stepped out of the line of the video camera and gestured that Butch should take his seat.

The big man sat down heavily. “H-Hello, M-Mrs T…” and he burst into tears.

“Now, Cyril. Tell me what happened...”

Virgil made good his escape. When he slid back behind his steering wheel every bone, muscle and fibre in his body were telling him to recline the seat back and have a sleep. Instead he set the car in motion and drove to the shops. Despite the fact that it was Sunday, the car park was fairly full and he had trouble finding a parking space. He eventually slotted the car in to a spot and got out. As he locked up he could hear arguing voices, but like most of the people out and about, he ignored them. He was going to get his coffee, get out of there, and, with any luck, get rid of Butch.

The voices grew louder; a woman’s more strident and aggressive than the others. “Leggo me!”

Virgil started walking down the gentle incline to the shop.

The perpetrators of the argument came into view. The woman, dressed in jeans and t-shirt, blonde pony tail swinging, and, even though it was still morning, clearly drunk, was being supported by the two security guards as she was being escorted off the premises. She was not happy about proceedings. “Leave me ‘lone!”

Virgil stood and stared. “Lisa?” Neither she nor the security guards had seen him and he briefly considered ensuring that it stayed that way. Then he stepped closer. “Lisa? Are you all right?”

Lisa stared at him with unfocused eyes as the female security officer scrutinised him, probably thinking that she wasn’t surprised that anyone in his state knew the dead weight hanging off her arms. “Do you know this woman, Sir?”

“Yes. We work together.”

“Thith man Virgil,” Lisa introduced. “Thith man good man. Unlike my ex man.”

“Your name’s Virgil?” the male security guard confirmed.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Do you know where this woman’s next of kin resides?”

Currently at my place. “Uh… Yes.”

The two guards looked at each other. “Good,” the man grunted and unhooked Lisa’s arm from around his neck. “Then you can take her.” He pushed Lisa in Virgil’s direction.

“Now hang on!” Virgil exclaimed. “I…” But the two guards were already making their way down to shopping complex; a job well done. He looked at the woman only just managing to maintain her balance before him. “Lisa,” he sighed.

She giggled.

“What am I going to do with you?”

“I have a suggestion,” she enunciated, taking a wobbly step so she was pressed up against him. “We could go back to your place and…” she gave a suggestive wink.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Virgil replied, edging back slightly.

“Awww. C’mon, Virgie.” Lisa looped her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. “You ‘n me? Wouldn’ you like that?”

“No!” At this moment Virgil couldn’t think of anything less appealing and Lisa looked hurt at his rebuttal. “We can’t go back to my place. There’s someone there.”

“Who? Is your gwandmotha there?”

“No. Butch is.”

“Him!” Lisa pushed off Virgil and turned away. “Don’ wanna see him!” She started staggering back down the incline.

“Lisa, he’s really upset,” Virgil told her. “He’s devastated that you’ve left him.”

“Tough.” Lisa spun about on the spot to face him and struggled to maintain her balance. “I tol’ him… I tol’ him I’d leave him if there waz trouble.”

“I know you did.”

She waggled her finger at him. “There waz trouble.”

Virgil, and his various aches and pains, was well aware of that.

“So that’s that…” Lisa made a cutting movement horizontally through the air and only just managed to keep her footing. “That’s that. I’m finished. I’m not goin’ bac’. I tol’ him that. That’s that.”

“I know,” Virgil admitted. “He told me.”

“I tol’ him that I want th’ house an’ the work car, but he can keep the Red-Arrow. I’m gone fer good.”

“You don’t mean that,” Virgil protested.

“Oh, yes I do. He can keep the Wed … Ret… The sportsta… An’ I hope they’ll be very happy together.” She started her downhill trek again.

“Lisa!” Virgil grabbed her by the arm. “You can’t go back in there.”

“Then where’m I gonna go?” Lisa whined. “Don’ wanna go home… alone.” That suggestive gleam infiltrated her eye again. “Course, if you waz to come with me…” She leant against Virgil again. “You a han’some man, Virgil Tracy…” She went slightly cross-eyed in thought and then giggled. “I jus’ called you Virgil ‘Tracy’…” She giggled again. “Jus’ like our great white leader.” She did a mock salute, nearly overbalancing in the process. “Mind you. You jus’ like him.” She tapped Virgil on his muscular chest. “You’r’ both lookers an’ you’r’ both built.” She put her arms about him again.

Under normal circumstances, Virgil, who was more likely to be compared to his mother than his father, would have found the comparison to be extremely flattering. But having a drunken women hanging like a leech off his neck didn’t qualify as normal circumstances. “Lisa!” he said firmly. “We are not going back to your place.”

“Awww.” Lisa pouted. “Don’ you wanna have some fun?”

Not knowing what else to do, Virgil guided the unsteady woman back to his car. Deciding that it would be too easy for her to cause trouble from the front seat, he opened the rear passenger-side door. “Get in.”

Lisa sat down. “Ohh. The back seat. Can’t wait, huh?” She reached up and pulled Virgil down on top of her.

He gave a slight yelp of pain and struggled free. “No! We are not going to do… that. Do your seatbelt up.”

“Oh…kay.” All fingers and thumbs, Lisa struggled with the harness as Virgil waited impatiently. Eventually she gave up. “Can you do it for me?” she asked, gazing up at him in what she considered to be an appealing manner.

Virgil hesitated. “So long as you don’t try anything.”

Lisa gave an emphatic drunken nod. “I won’t.”

Virgil leant into the car and, trying not to inhale the alcoholic fumes she exuded. If they got pulled over, which, judging by his present run of luck, seemed to be extremely likely, he’d probably be over the limit without a drop of drink touching his lips. He fastened her seatbelt; almost surprised that she didn’t try another move on him until he stood up and realised that she had fallen asleep. He hoped that she wasn’t going to be sick inside his car.

Forgetting the coffee he’d originally come for, Virgil slid into the driver’s seat and pondered for a moment. Now what should he do? Take her to her place? Take her to her mother’s place? He didn’t know where that was. Take her home to his place and Butch?

Virgil decided that the Crumps were right royal pains in the neck… arms… back…

He set the car into gear.

“Come on, Lisa,” Virgil said, tugging gently at her arm. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Where we?” she asked, trying to focus on the garage’s fixtures and fittings.

“My place.”

“Oh!” Lisa giggled. “Change your mind, huh?”

“Nope.” Virgil’s hope was that Butch would still be talking to Grandma. If anyone could get the two Crumps talking sense, it was Mrs Tracy. He didn’t want to consider what could happen if Butch had left the house.

“Then why are we here?” Lisa demanded, leaning on his arm.

“I want you to talk to Grandma.”

“Oh…” Lisa hiccoughed. “She’ nice. I like her.”

“So do I.” Virgil unlocked the door.

Butch was seated at the videophone, still communicating with Grandma Tracy, and he turned when the door slid open. “Lisa!”

“Butch?”

“Lisa…”

“Butch…”

“Lisa…” Butch held out his arms to the woman he loved.

“Butch!” Forgetting Virgil, Lisa ran into her husband’s embrace.

They kissed…

…

And kissed…

…

And kissed some more.

“Everyone happy?” Virgil asked.

His words washed over the oblivious couple.

“Don’t you want to go home now?”

There was no reply.

“Home…? You know…? Your place…?”

He may as well have been invisible.

“Right,” Virgil said. “If you’re okay I’ll… I’ll go for drive… somewhere… Um… Lock the door when you leave.”

There still wasn’t a response.

“Okay… See you later…” Virgil hesitated and then, with more than a little reluctance and one last longing look at his bed, left the apartment. Not knowing what else to do, he retreated to his car and climbed into the back seat, folding his tall frame nearly double so he could at least lie down for sleep…

*Ring. Ring.*

“What!” Virgil stared at the video console in the car’s cockpit. “I don’t believe this!”

*Ring. Ring.*

“Why can’t I be left alone…?”

*Ring. Ring.*

“…Sleep! A few hours sleep…”

*Ring. Ring.*

“…Is that too much to ask?” Virgil left the back seat and slammed his way into the front, seriously considering turning the car on so the mobile communications unit would be inoperable. Grumbling to himself he initiated contact, only just managing to remain civil. “Hi, Grandma.”

If Mrs Tracy was horrified by the injuries to his face she didn’t show it. “Hello, Honey. Where are you?”

“In my car, trying to sleep. Someone…!” Virgil made a movement in the general direction of his house, “has kicked me out of my home!”

“I know. They’re in there making out… ah, up.”

“Have you still got the videophone turned on?!”

She gave him an impish grin that reminded him of Gordon’s. “I thought I could let you know when they left.” The grin reversed itself slightly into a frown. “But you might have to change your sheets when you get home…”

“What!”

“… And get new springs for your bed.”

Horrified, Virgil gaped at her. “They’re not…! Are they?”

“Well… I know that it’s been a few years since your grandfather was alive, but…”

“And you’re still listening? Grandma!”

“I’ve turned the volume down and I can’t see anything. I’ll know when…”

Virgil held up an arresting hand. “Don’t say any more, Grandma,” he demanded. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“I was going to say, I’ll know when they leave because I’ll see them walk past the camera…” Virgil started to put his seat belt on. “Where are you going?”

“To buy a new bed!”

She clucked her tongue. “Now, Virgil. Don’t be silly.”

“Silly?! That’s my bed! I’m the one who should be in it…! Alone! Not those two… I…” Exhausted, Virgil fell back against his seat.

“You look tired,” Grandma pointed out; unnecessarily in Virgil’s opinion. “You’re not thinking clearly. Why don’t you go and stay at the Mickelsons’?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Uncle Hamish is my boss!”

“Edna isn’t your boss. And she’ll be most hurt if she thinks you don’t want her help.”

“But, Grandma!”

“But nothing, Virgil. I’m hanging up this phone now and I expect you to drive straight around to the Mickelsons’.”

Virgil hung his head. At least he should be assured of some peace and quiet at Aunty Edna’s. “All right, Grandma.”

“Good boy. Call me when you’re feeling better, I want to hear all about last night.”

Virgil finished the phone call and then started the car. He didn’t want to impose on anybody… even though others didn’t seem to mind imposing on him…

He pulled up outside the Mickelsons’ well appointed home and got out of the car. He was really starting to seize up now. If Aunty Edna wasn’t going to let him stay then there was nothing else for it but to crawl back to his car and sleep there on the side of the road. He didn’t think he could make it to a hotel. He rang the doorbell.

The door was opened almost instantly by Edna Mickelson. She didn’t appear to be surprised by his appearance. “Come in, Virgil.”

“I don’t want to impose, Aunty Edna, but could I crash on your couch for a few hours? My…”

“Don’t be silly. Your grandmother’s explained it all to me and I’ve made up the spare bed. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

Grateful beyond words, Virgil allowed himself to be led through the house into a bedroom in which the bed stood in pride of place, its sheets turned down invitingly. It was then that he realised something. “I’ve haven’t brought my pyjamas.”

“Now, don’t you worry about that. I’ve found some of Hamish’s that he hasn’t worn. They won’t fit a strapping young man like you, but they’ll do. And there’s a robe,” she added indicating the heavy tartan material. “Get into those and give me your clothes and I’ll put them through the wash.”

“But I don’t want to put you out,” Virgil protested. “All I need is to get some sleep.”

Edna folded her arms and glared at him. She might have been of his father’s generation, but there was a lot of his grandmother in her. “Virgil!”

He held up an appeasing hand. “Okay, okay.” He gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “You’re an angel.”

“Don’t feel that you have to get up for lunch. Come out when you’re ready, and I’ll heat something up.”

Virgil brightened. “You’re feeding me too? This almost makes getting beaten to a pulp worthwhile.”

“Oh, dear… Do you want something to eat now?” she offered.

“No, thanks.”

“Anything else?” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Pain-killers?”

“The police doctor gave me some,” Virgil pulled a vial out of a torn pocket, but at the moment I’m that tired that I don’t think I’ll need them. Thanks anyway.”

She patted his arm. “That’s good. I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything give me a call.”

Virgil smiled at her as she left and then turned to face the bed. He had everything he needed here.

“Virgil…” There was a gentle tap on the door. “Virgil?” The door opened. “I’m sorry… Are you awake?”

“Mmmn?” It seemed to be very hard to drag himself from the depths of slumber. “Whatzit?”

“I’m sorry,” Edna apologised again, “but Mr Kirby’s here to see you.”

Virgil frowned as his brain took its time awakening. “Who?”

“Your lawyer.”

“Huh?” Something clicked into place in Virgil’s brain. “Oh…” He attempted to sit up on the side of the bed and sucked in his breath as every muscle complained.

“I’m sorry,” Edna repeated a third time, laying the robe beside him on the bed. “Do you want a pain-killer before you see him?”

Virgil shook his head. He’d never been a huge fan of pain-killers, preferring to leave them as a last resort.

“He’s in the lounge,” Edna explained. “I’ll give him a cup of coffee and tell him you’ll be out in a minute.”

“Thanks, Aunty Edna.”

Mr Kirby, looking as immaculate as he had in the wee small hours of the morning and making Virgil feel even more dishevelled, was sitting on the couch sipping a cup of coffee when Virgil finally managed to struggle to the lounge. “Mr Kirby.”

“Mr Tracy.” The tiniest of smiles crept onto Mr Kirby’s face. “How are you feeling this evening?”

“Evening?” Virgil went to look at his watch and then remembered that it was a useless pile of electronics back in his apartment. “Is it?”

Mr Kirby obviously accepted that as an answer to his question, for he didn’t wait for elucidation. “I will come straight to the point, Mr Tracy. The charges against you have been dropped.”

“Dropped?” Virgil started to smile until he felt the edges of his split lip pull apart. “That’s great! Why?”

“The overwhelming evidence showed that you were an innocent victim of gang violence.”

Intrigued, Virgil couldn’t help asking, “What evidence?”

“Witness testimony. Security video. Also the video filmed by a young man at the party.”

“Jacob,” Virgil remembered. He gave a wry chuckle. “I’d bribed him to blank out my face before he showed anyone the video. I’d ask for my money back, expect that I think he’s earned it as a reward.”

Mr Kirby gave him a curious look. “There is enough evidence to convict the men responsible. You are completely exonerated.”

Virgil was growing happier by the minute. “So does that mean that they won’t keep my fingerprints or anything? My details won’t be on file?”

“That is correct…” Mr Kirby was looking at a file. “I take it that that is your car parked outside.”

“The silver one that’s been to the same panel beaters I have? Yes, that’s it.”

“There is video evidence of members of the gang attacking it. Do you wish to press charges?”

“Can I do that and maintain anonymity?”

“Yes…” Bill Kirby frowned. “You seem very, ah, keen to keep out of the system? Is there a reason?”

“Not really,” Virgil lied. “But I’ve already got one big brother who can’t stop keeping an eye on me; I don’t need the State doing it as well.”

“You may be asked to testify at the trial,” Mr Kirby informed him. “But, if you wish, we can apply for name suppression.”

Virgil nodded, the potential repercussions for International Rescue if his face got into the media at the forefront of his mind. “Yes, please. I know my father will appreciate his name not being caught up in this too.”

“Understood.” The wishes of one of the world’s richest were not to be dismissed. “Mr Tracy was very relieved to hear that you have been exonerated.”

Virgil was surprised and a little bit annoyed. “You’ve already told him?”

Mr Kirby gave what was, for him, a smirk. “He is paying my fee.”

“Oh,” chastened, Virgil sat back. “Right… Ah, can I ask about my friends? Do their charges still stand?”

“Mr Sanders and Mr Crump? No. In fact Mr Sanders’ assault will in all probability lead to more serious charges being laid against his assailant.”

“Have Bruce and Butch been told?”

“Mr Sanders has been informed. We have not been able to contact Mr Crump.”

“There’s every possibility that you’ll find him at my place,” Virgil said, grimly.

Mr Kirby snapped his briefcase shut and stood. “Since our business is concluded at this juncture, I will wish you good day, Mr Tracy.”

Virgil, with an effort, got to his feet. “Thank you, Mr Kirby.”

Mr Kirby noted Virgil’s stiffness. “I will let myself out. Please thank Mrs Mickelson for an excellent cup of coffee.”

He was able to do that himself as Edna Mickelson, bustling about to make sure that all was well, escorted him to the door. Then she returned to the lounge. “What did he say?”

“Good news,” Virgil beamed, and then dabbed his hand against the lip that had started bleeding. “I’m cleared of all charges. So are Bruce and Butch.”

Edna clapped her hands together. “Oh, that’s marvellous! Do you feel like joining us for dinner to celebrate?”

To his surprise, Virgil realised that he was hungry and he accepted her offer. After enjoying the main course and declining dessert, he wished both of the Mickelson’s a good night and retired to the spare room.

The following morning he was awoken by muted whisperings outside his door.

“You are not going to disturb him, Hamish!”

“He might be feeling well enough to go to work, Edna. He might simply have slept in…”

“Did he look well enough last night?!”

“No…”

“Well then!”

“But I’m his boss, it would be seen a favouritism if I let him laze about when just because he’s Jeff’s son.”

“And it’ll be seen as reverse discrimination if you force him to go to work just because he’s Jeff’s son! You saw him. He wasn’t well enough for seconds of his dinner, let alone dessert!” This was close to high treason and Virgil decided then that he’d have to have seconds tonight, maybe even thirds, to say thanks to Aunty Edna.

He fancied he heard a resigned sigh. “Very well, Edna. When he wakes up tell him I’ve put his apologies in.”

Smiling to himself, Virgil nuzzled deeper into his pillow and fell back into a deep sleep.

The following morning Virgil felt well enough to decide that he had imposed on the Mickelsons for long enough. He got up early and left a note saying thank you, explaining that he was going to work, and promising to call Aunty Edna at the first tea break.

Virgil drove home and pulled into the garage. It was only when he was stepping out of the car that he remembered something… or rather realised that he couldn’t remember something! He’d been working on International Rescue plans before he’d left for the party and he couldn’t remember putting them back in the safe. Butch and Lisa would have had plenty of time to find and read them…

In a fevered rush Virgil unlocked the door. He’d been working on the plans on the coffee table, which was bare. Hoping against hope that his paranoia had meant that he’d automatically placed the plans securely in the safe he raced over to the wall and, fumbling the lock, threw open the door…

The incriminating documents were sitting placidly on top of all the others.

Virgil shut the safe and leant against the wall to regain his breath and sense of equilibrium. He surveyed his apartment. It was neat and tidy, including the bed, which he stared at in some distaste and decided that he had a need to go shopping for furniture after work. Then he made himself breakfast.

His mood darkened when he remembered that he had never bought his coffee. He picked up the canister and gave it a shake, more out of hope than optimism, and was surprised to discover that it felt full. Opening it, he savoured the aroma of fresh coffee, before making himself a cup.

Feeling better after a dose of caffeine he got dressed, choosing a shirt with a high collar and long sleeves to hide most of the bruises, cuts and grazes. It was only then that he noticed the note on his pillow. It was written in Lisa’s delicate hand:

Dear Virgil

Are you all right? We’ve been waiting for you to return home, but had to leave to clean up the hall after last night. Please call us as soon as you get in.

Virgil looked at the clock. No point doing that now, they’d be getting ready for work.

You were out of coffee so we’ve replaced it. I hope you like the brand. I’ve changed the sheets on your bed. I’m afraid that we slept in it while we were waiting for you to come home.

Virgil could imagine the effort that had gone into the composition of that phrase.

We understand if you don’t want anything to do with us after what happened, but please call, whatever the hour and let us know you’re all right. We’ve been so worried. It’s our fault that you were hurt and got arrested. I didn’t even thank you for trying to diffuse the situation.

Hoping that you can forgive us for everything.

Your friends

Lisa and Butch

Virgil placed the note on his table, grabbed and checked his bag, and then prepared himself to answer endless questions at work…

He got there in plenty of time and was standing in the car park surveying the damage to his vehicle when he heard his name called. He turned as a pair of arms were flung about him, causing him to yelp in pain. “Lisa!”

“Oh, Virgil!” Horrified at what she’d done Lisa took a step backwards. “I’m sorry… So sorry. Oh… Look at you!” and Virgil had an uncomfortable feeling that she was about to burst into tears as she indicated his face. “This is our fault.”

“Are ya alright, Pal?” Butch asked; his brutish features creased in genuine concern. “We ain’t heard from ya in days. I asked Mega if he’d heard anythin’ an’ he said that all he’d heard was that ya wouldn’t be in yesterday.”

“But no explanation as to why you were away,” Lisa added. “Not that he’d tell us anyway.”

“I’m okay,” Virgil soothed. “Aunty Edna insisted that I stay with her. I only went home this morning to get ready for work… Thanks for the coffee by the way,” he added.

“It’s the least we could do,” Lisa replied. “And tell your father that we’ll repay him for the legal costs.”

Virgil chuckled. “He tells me that I’d never be able to afford to repay him, so I doubt you would be able to. Don’t worry about it. If he insists on repayment, which I doubt he’ll do, I’ll take care of it.”

“But we couldn’t ask you to do that,” Lisa insisted. “You’ve done too much already. Isn’t that right, Butch?”

“Righ’,” Butch agreed. “We c’n get the money.”

“Are you going to be able to work?” Lisa asked, convinced that Virgil’s injuries were indirectly her fault.

“If I stick to light duties… I never thought I’d be looking forward to using that linisher,” Virgil admitted. “I… ah… I take it that everything’s all right between you two?” he asked, remembering what had been overheard in his apartment.

The way Lisa reddened made him think that she was remembering that too. “Yes. Thanks to you and your grandmother.”

“I’m never goin’ to have anythin’ to do with the Skulz again,” Butch declared. “Me ‘n Lisa have been talkin’ an’ I’m gonna get my tats removed. All except this one, of course.” He placed his hand over his heart and the tattoo that read ‘Lisa’.” His wife smiled up at him, nuzzling closer.

“That’s a good start,” Virgil agreed. “But isn’t that rather expensive? Can you afford it?”

Butch pulled himself up to his full height. “I’m goin’ to sell the Red-Arrow Sportster.”

Virgil felt his mouth drop open. “But you love that car!”

“Yep. But I love this girl more,” Butch gave Lisa an affectionate squeeze. “I nearly lost ‘er twice. I ain’t gonna lose her again.”

Virgil had an idea. “Well, when you’ve thought of a price let me know. I might be interested in buying her… The car I mean, not Lisa.”

The Crumps laughed…

Max Watts wasn’t laughing when Virgil found him in the factory. “I hope you’ve got a good explanation for your absence yesterday!”

Virgil hesitated. I wasn’t feeling up to it wasn’t a good excuse. But then neither was I was involved in a fight on Saturday night, nearly got myself beaten to death, and ended up arrested by the police. Instead he handed over the sick note he’d been given by the police surgeon.

Watts read it, but clearly knew more than the docket disclosed. “So, you’ve been fighting, have you?”

“Defending myself and Bruce,” Virgil clarified, deciding that it was better to keep the Crumps out of it. “We were set upon by a gang. Bruce was knocked out, which is why…”

“Save the sob story,” Watts snarled. “It says here that you’re only to be doing light duties.”

“Yes,” Virgil agreed. “I’m sorry…”

“So you should be! We’re a busy company. We can’t afford to have people take time off unnecessarily and then expect to not pull their weight.”

“I would if I could…”

“What do you think Mr Tracy would think if he knew he had a brawler in his employment? What would he say?”

Virgil already knew what Jeff had to say about the subject and so said nothing. He was directed to the linisher and supplied with a large bin of components.

It wasn’t an easy day. He managed to get to morning tea without too much complaint and then avoided most of his colleagues by using the videophone in his car to ring Aunty Edna to thank her for her hospitality and to apologise for leaving without saying goodbye.

Between 10.00 and 12.00 was a hard grind. Made harder by the way the Production Manger seemed to be on Virgil’s case; always checking up on his work, always sniping about the poor workmanship (although Virgil was making a point of doing a good job), and always hinting that ACE could employ better, more responsible workers. Virgil reflected that the increased respect that Watts had shown him after he’d saved Lisa’s life had been short lived.

Lunchtime eventually rolled around and Virgil sat at his usual seat; alone at the table without Bruce. But he wasn’t alone for long as most of his workmates wanted to know exactly what had happened on the Saturday night. He gave a sanitised version of events, playing up Bruce’s heroics and playing down his own. Then Butch came along, gave Virgil a slap on the back that nearly brought tears to his eyes, and recounted a tale that made Virgil seem to be one step short of Superman. Everyone was late back to work after lunch and, by the way that he was glaring at Virgil, Max Watts left no doubt as to whom he blamed for the workforce’s tardiness.

12.30 to 2.50 was such a struggle that Virgil didn’t bother with his afternoon tea and instead rang Aunty Edna. “I hope you haven’t changed those sheets yet, because, if you’ll let me,” he begged, “I’d like to stay the night at your place again.”

“Of course, Virgil. I told you, you were more than welcome to stay as long as you needed.”

“I’ll have to go home and pack some things first.”

“I expect to see you when I see you. I’ll have dinner ready for 7.30.”

“Thanks, Aunty Edna.”

By the time that final bell rang out, Virgil had endured one of the longest days at ACE that he could remember. Longer even than those first days when he’d been a friendless outcast. It had only been the tenacity and determination that would serve him so well with International Rescue that had kept him going…

“Can I help you, Virgil?”

“Huh?” Virgil had been staring at the bag in his locker, wondering if he had the strength to lift it. “Sorry. What was that, Greg?”

Gregory Harrison was looking at him in concern. “You look exhausted!”

Virgil considered saying that he was all right, but didn’t have the energy to lie. “It’s been a long day.”

“Let me drive you home.”

Virgil managed a smile. “Thanks. But I’ll be okay.”

Greg looked at him the same way that he evaluated a finished unit… searching out hidden flaws and deficiencies. “Look… I don’t mind helping. I don’t have to hurry home; my wife’s away visiting her sister. And I’ve walked to work, so I don’t have to worry about my car. Let me drive you home, Virgil. I won’t feel happy letting you behind the wheel in that state.”

Beaten, Virgil nodded his thanks. “Except I’m not going home… I’m staying the night at Aunty Edna’s.”

“Aunty Edna’s?” Greg looked around to ensure they were alone in the locker room. “You mean Edna Mickelson’s?”

“Yes… But I’ve got to pick up some gear from home first.”

“Come on then,” Greg lifted Virgil’s bag from out of the locker. “Let’s get going. With any luck I might be able to score one of your Aunty Edna’s famous meals.”

When they reached Virgil’s apartment, Greg insisted that Virgil take his time getting himself together and Virgil insisted that Greg make himself a coffee and relax.

Greg took his steaming mug over to the couch. He glanced at the videophone as he walked past. “Looks like you’ve got thirteen messages…”

“Let’s see…” Virgil counted off on his fingers. “It’s been three days since the party. Three brothers…”

Greg looked surprised. “Three?”

“John’s up in the space station. He can’t make phone calls so he’ll have emailed… Three threes are nine…” Virgil gave Greg a wry look. “Plus an extra call from each of them yesterday to find out why I hadn’t reported in yet, so that’s twelve.”

“And the thirteenth?”

“Will be my tutor to let me know if I can re-sit the exam I forgot Sunday.”

“I’m in no hurry if you want to listen to them,” Greg stated.

“I’m pretty sure I already know what my brothers will say. Scott’ll be doing his worried-big-brother bit and Gordon and Alan will be in their element teasing me.”

Greg chuckled. “Well. Let’s find out… That’s unless you’d rather I didn’t listen.”

“No, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Virgil pushed the ‘replay messages’ button and, as expected, they listened through a succession of Tracy phone calls. Scott was first out of the blocks, checking that all was well, offering to fly out for help and support immediately, and expressing a desire to get his hands on the miscreants. Alan and Gordon were much more relaxed about the whole affair. They showed their obvious concern, but that concern was tempered with jokes at Virgil’s expense.

Then they heard Monday’s calls. The first was Scott again, more relaxed this time. “He knows I was staying with the Mickelsons,” Virgil explained. Then it was Wayne Morris telling Virgil that he’d been given an extension and the revised date for his exam was in a week’s time. “That’s a relief.” Following that announcement first Alan, and then Gordon, took the opportunity to check up on their big brother again. After another two rounds of Tracy siblings telling Virgil to report in, the phone went dead.

“Do you want to call them back?” Greg asked.

“I think I’ll email them,” Virgil replied. “They’ll all expect a full explanation otherwise and we’ll never get out of here!”

“You said that Edna won’t have dinner ready for you until 7.30pm.” Greg checked his watch. “We’ve got plenty of time. You check your emails and I’ll give her a call to let her know that you haven’t dropped off the face of the earth.”

“And get yourself an invitation to dinner,” Virgil teased.

“That didn’t cross my mind,” Greg replied in mock innocence.

Virgil’s inbox was filled with email, this time from four concerned brothers. John’s was the longest, expressing the sentiment that he wished he hadn’t been orbiting about the earth when his brother had needed him. After reading it all, Virgil quickly composed a bulk email telling everyone to stop worrying about him and that he’d be at the Mickelsons’ tonight enjoying Aunty Edna’s hospitality. He pushed ‘send’. “There. That’ll keep them happy for about five minutes.”

“Good.” Greg stood. “Are you ready to go?”

All of a sudden Virgil felt the lethargic feeling that he’d been dealing with at ACE return with a vengeance. He gave a tired nod. “I guess so.”

Greg fixed him with a concerned frown. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should see someone?”

“No, I’m fine. Like I said before, it’s been a long day.”

Greg gave a non-committal grunt. “Well, don’t forget that your health’s more important than anything else. If you don’t feel up to going to work tomorrow, don’t go! Your father will understand, even if Max Watts doesn’t want to.”

Virgil actually managed to doze off in the car as they drove to the Mickelsons’. He awoke when he felt the vehicle do the sharp turn into the driveway.

Edna Mickelson came bustling out of the house. “Greg! It’s so wonderful to see you again. You and Mavis have been strangers for too long.”

“Good to see you, Edna,” Greg grinned. “I’ve brought you a homeless waif to nurture.” He indicated Virgil.

“Hi, Aunty Edna.”

“If you feel like a shower before dinner, Virgil, there’s plenty of hot water. I’ve left towels in your bathroom. Take as long as you want. Greg and I can entertain each other until Hamish gets home and dinner’s ready.”

Greg raised an amused eyebrow. “Entertain each other? Just what do you have in mind, Edna Mickelson?”

“Greg Harrison! You always were a flirt… How is Mavis?”

Virgil left the pair of them enjoying their playful banter and retreated to the haven of the shower. The warm, massaging spray was like an elixir of life and Virgil allowed it to play over his aching muscles wishing he could stay in there for ever. It was only the thought of Aunty Edna’s delicious repast and the desire not to waste his friends’ water and electricity that finally coaxed him out. When he emerged from the en-suite he almost felt human again.

The meal was an enjoyable one, spiced up by Edna’s cooking and the company present.

Greg cast an enquiring look in Virgil’s direction. “What really happened last Saturday?”

Virgil, who had been trying to work out how much more of the main course he could have and still leave room for at least one helping of dessert, hesitated. “Butch and I told everyone at work, didn’t we?”

“I’ve heard two versions of what happened the other night, and I have a feeling that neither of them was strictly accurate. But if you don’t want to talk about it, then I understand.”

“No, that’s okay…” As he helped himself to seconds, Virgil started recounting events, treating it as if it were a debriefing, not embellishing anything, but not playing it down either. His tale was punctuated with exclamations from his audience. “So you see; I didn’t do anything special. I was basically trying to protect myself and the others.” He dug his fork into the mashed potatoes and savoured their creamy texture.

“I don’t know why the authorities don’t do something about people like that,” Edna huffed. “They’re a menace to society.”

“I think that’s one group that’s going to be out of society’s hair for quite some time,” her husband hypothesised. “At least I hope so.”

“Poor Lisa. She must have been mortified at what happened,” Edna stated. “And on her wedding anniversary too…! More peas, Greg?”

Greg accepted the bowl. “She’s a good worker... an excellent worker, but that girl’s trouble. Max Watts daren’t get her to work with half the young men at ACE simply because they pay more attention to Lisa than they do their work. The sooner she gets pregnant and leaves the company the better.”

“Why, Greg Harrison!” Edna scolded. “What a sexist thing to say! It’s not Lisa’s fault that those young men aren’t mature enough to look on her as a co-worker and not as a… a… sex object! Why should she have to leave work just because of them!? It’s not her fault that she’s an exceedingly beautiful young lady, it’s…”

Greg held up his hands in surrender. “Whoa! Edna! I take it all back. I unreservedly retract that statement. You’re right of course. What I should have said was that I wish all those young men who ogle her should get pregnant and leave, so Lisa can work unmolested. Is that better?” Edna laughed and, after a moment’s hesitation, Hamish and Virgil joined in.

“I still can’t work out what she sees in Butch,” Hamish said, steering the conversation away from the more controversial subject. “They’re like chalk and cheese those two. He’s an excellent worker too, but seems to have the personality of this salt shaker.” He applied some of the seasoning.

“He’s actually quite an interesting guy to talk to if you can see past the tattoos and manage to find a subject he’s interested in,” Virgil commented. “He looks tough, but he’s really a big marshmallow… except when it comes to protecting Lisa,” he added, remembering Butch’s furious attack on Muzz. “He’s scared he’s going to lose her again, so he’s doing everything he can to show that he’s renouncing the Skulz.”

“If he wants to appear more cultured, he could always have ‘alleyqueshun’ lessons.” Hamish laughed. “I’m sure your father could recommend a good teacher. Did Jeff ever tell you that story, Greg?”

“No.”

“You didn’t know him before he started ACE, did you? He had a very strong Kansas accent. When he started with the Space Agency, the PR department wanted to knock it out of him for publicity purposes. The guy in charge proposed that he take ‘alleyqueshun’ lessons.”

Greg stared at his boss and friend. “Jeff Tracy let someone tell him to do something?”

“Oh, yes. In those days he was a pretty ‘by the book, obey the chain of command’ kind of guy. It’s only when he had to fend for himself and his kids that he let his real personality come through.”

“Well, Butch Crump isn’t Jeff Tracy,” Edna stated. “It would need more than alleyqueshun lessons to make people take him seriously. Those tattoos of his make him seem more like a hoodlum.”

“He says he’s going to have most of them removed,” Virgil offered. “He’s going to sell his Red-Arrow Sportster to pay for it.”

“He’s got a Red-Arrow?” Greg asked. “I didn’t know that. That model’s a classic.”

“This one’s in mint condition too,” Virgil told him. “I said that if he does sell it, I’d buy it off him. I’m dying to have a good look at the engine, but I think asking Butch that would be akin to asking him if I could see Lisa naked.”

“But you’re going to live on an island, Virgil,” Edna said. “What on earth could you do with a car there? Run it up and down the runway?”

“I did think of giving it to Alan for Christmas,” Virgil admitted. “But, as you said, it’s not going to be of much use on the island. Then I thought that I’d sell it back to the Crumps for a couple of hundred dollars before I move.”

“You’re going to buy the car, and pay a reasonable price I suppose,” Edna commented and Virgil nodded. “And then you’re going to sell it back for a fraction of its cost?”

“That’s right.”

She tutted. “You boys have obviously got no concept of the value of money!”

“But Aunty Edna, what’s the use of having money if you can’t do something good with it? What’s wrong with helping a friend out? They’d never accept the money outright.”

“That may well be true, but I still think it’s a waste.” She huffed. “I’m going to have to have words with your father.”

“Edna, honey, you’re going to be talking to Jeff Tracy, remember?” Hamish said. “I guarantee that he’ll think that Virgil’s doing the right thing. He’d probably buy the car himself if he thought it would help the Crumps out. You know what he’s like.”

Edna scowled at her empty plate. “Is everyone ready for dessert?” She collected together the plates and left the table.

There was a moments silence as the men tried to think of non-confrontational topic of conversation. “So… Virgil,” Greg Harrison began. “Do you think you’ll be up to coming in to work tomorrow?”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll be fine...” He smiled up at his hostess as a bowl was placed in front of him. “Thanks, Aunty Edna… So long as Mr Watts leaves me alone to get on with the job. I thought I’d finally won his respect after I helped save Lisa’s life and now, after last weekend, I’m back to square one again. He practically accused me of deliberately getting involved in the fight as if I’m irresponsible enough to take on a biker gang. I try to do my work to the best of my abilities and he still treats me like…” Greg cleared his throat and Virgil froze; remembering exactly who he was dining with. “Ah… I hope it was Uncle Hamish listening then; not Mr Mickelson.”

“It was Mr Mickelson,” Hamish Mickelson growled. “What are you saying, Virgil?”

“I’m, ah…” Virgil was feeling trapped by his own words. “I’m saying that I’m… ah… feeling tired… It’s been a long day…” he finished, hopeful that the conversation would be left there and forgotten.

He wasn’t that lucky. “Do you have an issue with Mr Watts’ leadership?”

“Well… In general… no,” Virgil prevaricated. “He’s a clever engineer… I guess that he and I don’t exactly, um, get along. You know how some people can’t take to each other…? You know what I mean…?” He peered hopefully at the man he regarded as an uncle. “I don’t want to cause any trouble. Mr Watts doesn’t know that I’m Jeff Tracy’s son.”

“Who you are and who you’re related to shouldn’t have any bearing on the way Max Watts treats you. Are you saying that there are some issues with the way he treats employees?”

“Now, Hamish.” Edna sat down at the table. “That’s enough shop talk for this evening. Find a topic of conversation that I can enjoy too. How’s young Alan getting on with his racing, Virgil?”

The conversation settled down to more inoffensive topics and everyone enjoyed dessert. But still Virgil had a feeling that Hamish Mickelson was biding his time before he’d re-launch his enquiry into Max Watts’ conduct. His worst fears were confirmed when, after the meal, Hamish offered to drive Greg home with a look that was easy to interpret as ‘I want a word with you.’ Virgil would have said something then except that for the third time that evening the wave of lassitude threatened to swamp him. Edna saw him sag and insisted that he forget about the dinner dishes and take himself off to bed. By the time he’d finished protesting that the least he could do was clear the table, the older men had already left.

Virgil was feeling better when he arrived at work the following morning. He accepted his tasks for the day from Mr Watts without comment and from then on worked steadily, not daring to take a break until he heard the siren signal morning tea.

He was surprised to catch up with someone in the staff canteen. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be home in bed.”

“I’ve done enough sleeping to last me a lifetime,” Bruce Sanders complained. “I was bored so I asked them to give me something non-taxing to do. I’m helping out in the stores.”

Virgil smiled. “Well, it’s good to see you again. How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” Bruce said, but there was something in his tone that negated that admission.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been thinking,” Bruce admitted. “I’ve had nothing else to do these last few days so I’ve thought and thought and thought.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Virgil chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. “What have you been thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about quitting ACE.”

“What!?” Virgil looked up from his coffee cup. “Why?”

“I’ve been thinking that your time here’s nearly up and when you’re gone I won’t have any friends here.”

“Huh?” Virgil frowned. “But you’ve got lots of friends here. There’s Butch and Lisa and, at a pinch, Louis…”

Bruce opened his mouth to comment but was stopped when someone exclaimed his name. “Bruce! Are you all right?”

“Uh… Hi, Lisa,” Bruce mumbled. “I’m fine.”

“We’ve been worried about you,” Lisa gushed. “Haven’t we, Darling?” she asked Butch who, face creased in concern, had come to stand at her shoulder.

“Yeah,” Butch agreed. “We was going to call an’ see ya, but Leece said we should let you rest a coupla days.”

“Thanks,” Bruce was concentrating on his coffee. “But I’m fine now.”

“Oh… Good.” Lisa noticed his distracted behaviour. “I’m glad, Bruce. You had me worried.” She placed a comforting hand on his arm and he pulled it away. She looked surprised, but made no comment. “I… ah… I guess you and Virgil want to chat, so Butch and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thanks,” Virgil said, wondering about his friend’s strange behaviour. He observed Bruce as the latter watched the Crumps depart for another table. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“Nothin’.” Something in Bruce’s expression rang alarm bells in Virgil’s mind.

“Bruce…” he said: his voice sounding a warning.

“She’s lovely,” Bruce sighed.

“And she’s happily married,” Virgil reminded him. “You can’t be falling for her!”

“Not falling,” Bruce stated. “Fallen.” He sighed again, looking over at the Crumps with the hang dog expression of a high school freshman lusting after the head cheerleader.

“You’re asking for trouble,” Virgil hissed. “Butch’ll kill you!”

“I know. That’s why I’ve got to leave ACE. I can’t stay here working beside her; not without letting her know how I feel.”

“When did this start?”

“Dunno. I mean, originally I was like any of the other guys here… except Winston, of course… I could only see how physically beautiful she was. I drooled over her as much as the next guy… except Winston… But these last few months I’ve got to know her better and now I know what she’s really like… as a person… I mean… I saved her life, Virgil. Do you know what that feels like to save someone’s life?”

“I’ve got a fair idea.”

“And then, last Saturday evening, I saved her again… I protected her from those bikers… I could feel her trembling in my arms as I protected her…”

Virgil gave him a sideways look. “I thought you couldn’t remember anything about the fight.”

Bruce gave an unsteady wave. “I can remember bits and pieces. I remember looking into her eyes… and her looking into mine… And I could feel her heart beating… Our hearts beating together… I can remember leading her away from the fighting… I remember how grateful she was…”

What Virgil remembered seeing, in between Skulz out to kill him, was Lisa leading an injured Bruce. He was beginning to get worried.

“I mean, it’s not fair on Lisa,” Bruce continued, seemingly unaware of the role reversal, “having me working so close to her and not being able to do anything about it. I should go and tell her that it’s impossible…” He made as if to stand, but Virgil put a hand out to stop him.

“I wouldn’t tell her now,” he advised, looking about to double-check that no one was within eavesdropping distance. “You don’t want to create a scene at work.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Bruce gave an energetic nod and then frowned putting his hand to his head. “Better wait until later.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.”

Despite Bruce’s reassurances, Virgil had his doubts. He decided to redirect the conversation. “So… If you leave here after I leave ACE, where will you go?”

Bruce frowned. “Home.”

“No, I mean where will you try to find work?”

“Work? I think I’ll be too tired to work. I might just head home to… um… to… … What was I saying?”

Virgil stood. “You were saying you’re feeling tired.” He moved around to his friend’s side. “How about I take you somewhere where you can lie down?” He helped Bruce to his feet.

“Lie down? Lie down… Yes, lie down,” Bruce ranted. “That sounds like a good idea. Lie down…”

“Good. Then come with me… Leave that,” Virgil advised as Bruce made to pick up his coffee cup. “I’ll come back and clean up afterwards.”

“You’re a good friend, Virgil. A true friend,” Bruce patted him on the chest. “A real friend.”

“A real friend wouldn’t have got you into this state,” Virgil muttered as he led an unsteady Bruce towards the door. All eyes were on them, but he caught Greg Harrison’s.

The older man left his seat. “Taking him to see the doctor?”

Virgil nodded. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

“I’ll let Max Watts know.”

“Thanks, Greg.”

“Thanks, Greg,” Bruce echoed. “Tell’m I’ll be back as quick as I can too… Once I’ve had a lie down.”

Greg gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’ll do that, Bruce. You take care of yourself.”

Virgil manoeuvred Bruce to the medical centre and, without waiting around, left him with an understanding doctor. Then he hurried back to his workstation, the end-of-break bell having already sounded…

“Tancy!”

Virgil stopped. Max Watts did not sound happy. “Yes, Mr Watts?”

“My office! Now!”

“Yes, Mr Watts.” Virgil followed him into the fishbowl of a room.

“Shut the door!”

Virgil complied. This wasn’t a good sign.

“Where have you been?”

“Taking Bruce Sanders to the doctor,” Virgil explained. “I don’t think he’s recovered from his concussion yet. I did tell…”

“Oh, you’ve told lots of people lots of things, haven’t you, Tancy?” Watts said and Virgil’s heart sank. Hamish Mickelson must have spoken to the Production Manager about last night’s dinner conversation. “I suppose you feel pretty special; having friends in high places.”

“No, Sir… uh… Mr Watts.” Virgil bit his tongue.

Watts jaw tightened. “I suppose you think that that means that you can slack off?”

“No, Mr Watts. I thought that since I was Bruce’s friend and since I’m only doing a not very important job at the mo…”

“Not doing an important job?! Every job at ACE is important! Every job! From the cleaner to Jeff Tracy himself, every person has an important role to play in this company and every person is expected to do it to the best of his or her ability! Not slink away playing nursemaid!”

“But I wasn’t gone long. I told the doctor what was wrong with Bruce and then left!” Despite his promise to himself that he would remain calm, Virgil felt his ire rising. He looked at the clock. “It’s only…”

“It’s only time you came to realise that ACE doesn’t revolve around you, Tancy! You are nothing to this company! Your work is below standard…!” Virgil’s jaw dropped. “You have time off unnecessarily…”

“I…”

“You disrupt other hardworking employees! You fill the minds of impressionable young men with foolish ideas! You!” Max Watts stabbed at the air in Virgil’s direction. “You are trouble! And Jeff Tracy would be ashamed to know that one of his companies… One of his flagship companies employed someone with your attitude and substandard skills. What do you think he’d think if he was standing here looking at a slacker like you right now? What do you think he’d say!?”

Virgil Tracy knew exactly what Jeff Tracy would say. And Virgil Tracy thought it was time that Max Watts found out exactly whose son Virgil ‘Tancy’ was.

Virgil opened his mouth to speak.

“What’s going on, Max?”

Virgil turned when he heard the unexpected voice. Greg Harrison was standing in the doorway and he, despite the quietness of his query, looked angry.

…Which appeared to make Max Watts even angrier. “This is a disciplinary matter, Greg. This is nothing to do with you.”

“The way you were yelling at Virgil, you’ve made it a matter for the whole plant. And I think you need to know that you’re making a big mistake.”

“Oh, I am: am I?”

“Yes, you are,” Greg’s voice was still deceptively quiet. “And if you continue treating this young man in the manner you have been since he started here, you are going to be very, very sorry.”

“Sorry?!” Max Watts snorted. “It’s not me who will be feeling sorry!” He shot daggers at Virgil.

“Oh yes you will be.” Greg gave a mirthless grin and Virgil was shocked to realise that there was animosity between these two men. If it was something that had always been present, they’d hidden it well.

“It may have escaped your notice, Greg, but I am Production Manger in this plant. Not you!”

“I am aware of that, Max, and I have never asked for your job. I wouldn’t want it and Jeff Tracy knows that.”

“Do you think that just because you have known Jeff Tracy since he started this company that you are in a position of power?”

“In this situation, yes. I’ve known Virgil and his family most of his life. I’ve also observed his work these past few months that he’s been here at ACE and I can’t fault him…”

“Then there’s a reason why I’m Production Manger and you are simply a Charge Hand.”

“Yes. And that reason is that both Jeff Tracy and Hamish Mickelson know that the way to get the best out of their employees is to make use of their strengths. Your strength, Max, is paper pushing like the desk jockey you are.”

Virgil was feeling uncomfortable. This exchange was becoming personal and he wondered if it would be possible for him to slip out of the Production Office unobserved. He glanced outside and saw a sea of faces staring in. It seemed that most of ACE’s work force had downed tools to watch an argument that appeared to be escalating.

“George’s strength,” Greg Harrison continued, “is NOT engineering in any shape or form and it’s high time you admitted that and stopped taking out your frustrations on Virgil.”

“You keep my son out of this!”

“You brought your son into this when you employed him at ACE despite the fact he’s not up to ACE’s high standards.”

Max Watts was on his feet. “You take that back, Greg!”

“Don’t you think that there could be a reason why Virgil was employed and George was not?”

“George is a willing worker!”

“Agreed! So long as he’s working anywhere but here!”

“He just needs the opportunity to learn the job!”

“Stop thinking like an ambitious father and start thinking like a Production Manager! He’s not suited to engineering!”

“He’s always wanted to work at ACE!”

“You’ve always wanted him to work at ACE! George has never had any say in the matter…”

“So now you’re telling me how to run my home life as well as my factory…”

“Your factory?” Greg barked a bitter laugh. “Since when has this become ‘your factory’…?!”

“What’s going on here?!”

Virgil jumped. He hadn’t seen or heard the General Manager enter the production office and, clearly, neither had Max Watts or Greg Harrison. Glancing outside Virgil realised that the audience of co-workers had melted away.

Hamish Mickelson looked furious. Having been dragged out of his office to diffuse an argument between his most senior employee and his Production Manger was not the way he’d planned on spending his morning. “You two,” his finger moved from Watts to Harrison, “go to my office. Now! And you…” he rounded on Virgil, “can wait in the front office. I will want to hear your side of events.”

“Yes, Sir,” Virgil mumbled, feeling sick. He was also feeling responsible.

He sat in the front office, not speaking with the Personal Assistant, and strained his ears to see if he could get any indication as to what was happening in the G.M.’s office. There was an occasional muffled shout, mainly from Mr Mickelson, but nothing to indicate how things were proceeding.

Time passed and Virgil, his tall frame folded into one of the seats that seemed too short for him, was starting to receive angry messages from his bruised body. To try and alleviate the tension, both mental and physical, he started pacing.

To the obvious annoyance of Olivia, the P.A. “Why don’t you sit down, Virgil?”

Virgil decided that this was one situation when it paid to be honest about his health. “It’s too painful,” he admitted. “Look, I’ll wait outside. I’ll come running as soon as they want me.”

He paced for another hour before the door to the office opened. “Mr Mickelson would like to see you now,” the P.A. said and Virgil, his nervous apprehension multiplying, entered the inner sanctum.

The feeling of animosity that filled the inner office was so thick that Virgil had a sudden understanding of the phrase ‘cut the air with a knife’. Mr Mickelson indicated that he should sit in a chair within view of the room’s three occupants and Virgil quickly complied.

“I am sorry that you got caught up in this, Virgil,” Mr Mickelson began, with no introduction or explanation. “And a decision has been reached. I am temporarily splitting production into two sections. One under the leadership of Mr Watts, the other under Mr Harrison. Each section will have its own specific projects and I will dictate which section has control over which project. For example: Mr Watts will control all works required by Frakes Corporation, while Mr Harrison will control all those relating to Anderson Productions…”

Virgil sent out a silent vote of thanks to Uncle Hamish. Greg Harrison was to be maintaining watch over every component relating to International Rescue.

“You will continue working out your time here, Virgil, that goes without saying,” Hamish continued, “but you will report directly to Greg Harrison.” Virgil nodded, careful not to show any emotion. “I’m not saying that I am happy with this arrangement, but it seems to be the best solution in the interim.”

Virgil nodded again.

“This conversation is not to be discussed with anyone other than the four people present in this room.” Hamish Mickelson looked directly at Virgil. “Even Mr Tracy will not be informed… I had been led to believe that the staff of ACE worked well together as a seamless unit, and it saddens me to realise that we are unravelling. I am hopeful that in time ACE will once again be the close knit organisation that it always was.”

Virgil, feeling more than a little guilty that he appeared to have been the catalyst for this ‘unravelling’, stared at his hands.

“I think enough has been said at this juncture,” Hamish concluded, despite that fact that since Virgil had arrived, he’d been the only person who’d spoken. “Mr Watts. Mr Harrison. I will now ask you to leave. I wish to talk to Virgil alone.”

The two older men grunted something that could have been an acknowledgement of what had been said, an affirmation, a farewell, or simply an expulsion of relief that the meeting had been concluded, stood and, without a glance at each other, left the room.

When the door had closed behind them, Virgil turned back to his boss. “I’m sorry.”

The G.M. let out a sigh and settled back into his chair. “The only thing you have to be sorry about, Virgil, is that you didn’t tell me what was going on sooner.”

“I didn’t think it was important. Mr Watts only had it in for me and up till now I could handle it. I never realised that they didn’t like each other.”

“No,” Mickelson agreed, “neither did I. I was trying to suggest that Max Watts take some time off to get some perspective, but he refused. The poor man needs a hobby but he’s got no interests outside of work.” He fixed his gaze on Virgil. “And I mean what I said about not saying anything to your father. This is something that is better kept in house. Jeff doesn’t need to know that there’s a major personality clash between his senior staff members.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Then Mr Mickelson relaxed into Uncle Hamish. “I hope this means that you still feel you’ll be able to stay at our place tonight. Edna will never forgive me if she thinks I’ve forced you away before you’re completely recovered.”

Virgil managed to give him a bright smile. “I’ll never forgive myself if I miss out on her cooking.”

Chapter 9: A Quiet Homecoming

Lunchtime Friday.

In the intervening two days there had been a lot of discussion amongst ACE’s employees as to what had actually happened in the production office and subsequently in Mickelson’s. Following that meeting a general meeting had been called and the staff had been split into two groups; one under Max Watts’ authority; the other under Greg Harrision’s control. Word on the factory floor was that Virgil Tancy knew what had been the reason behind this split, but while there had been many queries, some circumspect, some outright, the young man was unwilling to reveal all. Much, however, had been made of the fact that he’d been paired with Harrison and not Watts…

Virgil left the workshop floor and went to get his lunch from the locker room. He was surprised to discover a friend sitting there. “Bruce!” He frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Bruce held up an apologetic hand. “Relax. I’m not here to work. I got bored at home so I thought I’d come in and do some social club stuff. I’ve got an idea to put to Mr Tracy. How’re the bruises?”

“Most of the red and purple’s gone,” Virgil responded. “And now I’m just black, blue and yellow. How’re you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks.” And Virgil had to admit that Bruce was looking better. The colour was back in his cheeks and his old cheeky grin had returned. “And I thought of you, sitting at our table all alone… by yourself…” Virgil mimed playing a violin, “and I thought ‘why not keep my old pal Virgil company?”

“You mean you’re like the rest of them and want to know exactly what’s happened,” Virgil growled as they began their walk to the canteen.

“Well… If you want to unburden yourself, who am I to stop you?” Bruce gave an engaging smile. “Treat me as your confessional.”

“I have no need to ‘unburden’ myself,” Virgil informed him. “Have you been told who you’ll be working under?”

“Yeah. I popped into the office to tell them I was on site and Mr Mickelson gave me the news. I’ve got Harrison. I’m guessing you have too?”

“You’ve guessed right.”

“I’ll bet you’re glad about that.” Bruce claimed his traditional seat opposite Virgil’s.

Virgil placed his coffee and sandwiches (an Edna Mickelson specialty) on the table. He was about to sit down when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and found himself caught up in a crushing (and somewhat painful) embrace, complete with a full-on kiss on the lips. This wouldn’t have been too bad except that the owner of those lips was appeared to be in need of a shave. He pushed the overly amorous person away. “Gordon!”

Gordon Tracy favoured him with a coquettish smile and batted his eyelashes. “Hello, Darhling. Did you mith me?”

“Miss you! I’d like to…”

Gordon gazed at him with rapturous delight. “I know what you’d like to do.” He gave Virgil a lascivious wink. “I knew you were thimply dying to thee me again,” he lisped, “tho I racthed over here ath thoon ath I could.” His voice, precisely pitched so the volume didn’t appear to be forced, but could be heard by almost every person in the room, had the desired result. Each and every one of Virgil’s workmates had turned in their chairs and was listening with great interest. Gordon wrapped his arms around Virgil and gave him another bruising hug.

“Gordon!” As much a defence against pain as an effort to put their relationship into its proper perspective, Virgil pushed his brother away again.

“Oh, you,” Gordon gave another coquettish smile. “He just can’t keep hith handth off me,” he told Bruce who, having already worked out the true relationship between the two men, was grinning like a lunatic. Gordon reached behind him, pulling out a bunch of long-stemmed red roses. “Thethe are for you,” he said bashfully.

Virgil looked at the roses and briefly considering dashing the blooms over the prankster’s head. At a loss as to what else to do he took them. “Gordon,” he sighed. “You haven’t changed.”

“I should hope not.” Gordon grabbed Virgil’s chin and turned his brother’s head so that he could see the mottled colours running down the side of his face. “Very pretty. Have you been falling asleep face down on your palette again?”

Virgil ignored the query. “This is my friend Bruce. Bruce, this idiot is my brother Gordon.”

There was a twin chorus of “So I gathered,” and both men laughed.

“I always knew getting you two together would spell trouble for me.” Wanting to distance himself from the incriminating roses, Virgil had an idea. “Would you like a coffee, Gordon?”

“Darhling. I should thimply love one.” Gordon plonked himself into the nearest chair and turned his attention on Bruce. “So, what’s it like working with my big brother?”

Shaking his head in exasperation, Virgil wondered over to the dispensing hatch where Beryl, the tea-lady, was watching him with an expression that could have been interpreted as disappointed. “That,” he pointed at Gordon, “is my brother.”

Beryl’s face lit up. “Your brother?”

Virgil nodded. “My younger brother, the prankster. We haven’t seen each other in just over a year and he’s making up for lost time...”

“So he’s not… You’re not…”

Virgil brushed aside the questions. “Would you ladies like these?” He held out the roses. “I’ve got nowhere to put them, they’d be dead by the time I went home, and I’m sure you’d all appreciate them more than I would.”

Her face positively beaming in delight, Beryl accepted the roses with a breathless thank you. “Does your brother want a coffee, Virgil?”

“Yes, please.” As she picked up a cup, Virgil’s eyes fell onto some shakers on the counter. “Hang on.”

“Yes, Dear?” The tea-lady looked at him in bemusement.

Virgil cast a sly look over his shoulder. Gordon, his back to the counter, was deep in conversation with Bruce. He leant closer to Beryl. “Would you mind putting some cinnamon in first?”

“Cinnamon?” she asked as she complied.

“Gordon hates it,” Virgil explained. “Maybe I can get even.”

Beryl added the coffee. “But won’t he smell it?”

“Hopefully not. He’s been a swimmer all his life and he says the chlorine’s deadened his sense of smell. With any luck it hasn’t improved over the past year… Thanks,” he added, accepting the cup.

Beryl winked at him. “I’ll have a fresh one ready for him.”

Trying (and not really succeeding) to keep a straight face Virgil set the cup in front of Gordon. “There you go, Bro.”

Fortunately Gordon did little more than glance at him as he focussed on Bruce. “Thanks… So then what happened?”

“I don’t know. Everything’s pretty hazy after that. You’ll have to ask Virgil.”

Gordon had picked up the mug to drink, but, before his lips touched it, he put it back down again. “I did, but all he’s said is that things got a little rough.” He lifted the mug again, this time looking at Virgil. “What’s up with you?” he asked, seeing his brother’s smirk.

Virgil gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Just happy to see you again.” He winked at Beryl, who’d been joined by the other tea-ladies in anticipation of a laugh. She raised a cup in a salute.

Gordon gave him a strange look and lifted the mug again... And placed it back on the table.

Virgil suppressed a groan.

“How many were there? I can’t get anything out of Virg other than ‘a few’.” Gordon mimed the quotation marks.

Bruce had noticed Virgil’s facial contortions and, like Gordon, was wondering what was up. He raised his eyebrow at his friend before opening his mouth to reply…

Gordon had finally taken a mouthful of coffee. His first reaction was to spit the offending liquid out, but managed, with much manful gagging, to swallow it. “What’s wrong with this stuff!?”

Virgil took the mug, and sniffed it. “Dunno. Smells all right to me.”

Gordon was wiping his tongue on his sleeve. “That’s disgusting!” He smacked his lips together a few times, trying to remove the offending liquid. “That tastes like…” He turned on Virgil who couldn’t contain his laugher. “You didn’t?!”

Bruce, wondering what it was that had caused such a reaction, grabbed Gordon’s cup. “Smells okay to me. All I can smell is coffee and… Cinnamon?” He returned the cup to Gordon with a querying look in Virgil’s direction.

“Cinnamon!” Gordon exclaimed. “You put cinnamon into my coffee! You know I hate that stuff!”

Virgil feigned surprise. “Really? I’d forgotten. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

Gordon scowled at him. “Yeah, right.”

“Is everything all right, Dear?” Beryl asked, pretending to clean the table.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of another, is there?” Gordon asked. “One that he,” he pointed an accusing finger at Virgil, “hasn’t got his hands on.”

“Now aren’t you lucky,” Beryl responded. “It so happens I have a fresh mug right here.” She handed Gordon another cup and he sniffed it suspiciously. “Have you had enough of this one?” she asked, taking the tainted brew.

Gordon sniffed the new cup again. “Are you sure this one’s safe?” He took a cautious sip and made a show of tasting it. “Much better, thanks.”

“Yes. Thanks, Beryl,” Virgil echoed and, with a conspiratorial wink, she retreated to her counter.

Gordon had a big mouthful of coffee, allowing it to swill around in him mouth before swallowing. “Who put you up to that little trick, Virg?”

“You did.”

“I mean; whose idea was it?”

“Mine.”

“Yeah, but who actually thought of putting cinnamon into my coffee?”

“Gordon,” Virgil said with well practised patience. “I did. I saw it on the counter and thought I’d try to get even.”

“You did?” Gordon was obviously astonished.

“Yes.”

“Yourself?”

“Yes.”

“With no help? No prompting?”

“No.”

“You!? Virgil?!”

“Yes, me, Gordon,” Virgil sighed in exasperation. “I’m not a humourless as you guys seem to think.”

“I never said you were humourless,” Gordon stated, enjoying another mouthful of coffee. “You can take ‘em, no problem. But I don’t think you’ve played a joke on anyone...! In your entire life! I’m impressed!” He turned back to Bruce and grinned. “You must be a good influence on him.”

Bruce smirked in reply. “I do my best.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “So why are you here, Gordon? I thought they weren’t due to let the air out of your bubble until next week.”

“Hurricane brewing,” Gordon explained. “They decided that it would be better to get us out before it hit rather than after. As soon as they gave us the all clear I took off. I just had to see my favourite brother first…” There was a glint in his eye. “Scott and Alan send their best and John’s upset because he’s going to miss out on the party.” He smiled. “Dad’s brought it forward to this weekend. Can you still make it?”

Virgil matched the smile with one of his own. “Just try and stop me.”

“If you go putting cinnamon into anything else of mine, I just might!”

“You really hate cinnamon that much?” Bruce asked.

“Nasty, disgusting, foul-tasting…” Gordon muttered, and screwed up his face again as the last vestiges of the flavour found its way back to his palate.

“He hates it so much,” Virgil explained, “that Grandma always has to make two batches of apple pies. She makes one for Gordon first…”

“So it doesn’t get contaminated with that brown dust,” Gordon interrupted.

“And then she cooks up another couple of pies… made properly,” Virgil emphasised and Gordon pulled a face, “for the rest of us. We all reckon that it’s just an act, so that Gordon,” he punched his brother on the arm, “has a whole pie to himself.”

Gordon smirked. “Every cloud has a silver lining.”

“Pity John won’t be home from the space station in time for the weekend,” Virgil said. “It would have been fun to have a double homecoming.”

“We’ll have to have another the following week. Any excuse for a party.” Gordon grinned. “So!” he hit Virgil on the back and his brother winced under the impact. “What’s it like working in Daddy’s sweat-shop…? Uh…” realising his gaff, his grin fell away and he glanced at Bruce. “Oh, heck. I’m sorry, Virgil. I forgot no one here knows…”

“It’s okay, Gordon,” Virgil soothed. “Bruce knows who I am… Who we are.”

Gordon mimed wiping his brow. “Whew!” He jammed a thumb in Bruce’s direction. “So he’s to be trusted?”

“He’s got concussion so he’ll probably forget anything we say anyway.”

“Hey!” Bruce complained. “I’m getting better! I expect to get the all clear to come back to work on Monday.”

“Well, don’t rush it,” Virgil warned. “After what you were saying on Wednesday…”

Bruce frowned. “What was I saying?” He looked up and smiled as someone walked past. “Hi, Lisa.”

She fixed him with a warm smile in return. “It’s good to see you again, Bruce. I hope you’re feeling better.”

“I am.” He winked at her. “And better still after seeing you.”

Virgil relaxed. The love-sick Bruce had obviously been a symptom of the concussion.

Gordon turned in his seat and saw Lisa. He, rather obviously, raked his eyes up and down her body before emitting a wolf-whistle. Lisa, ignoring his boorish behaviour, turned away so he attempted to get her attention by goosing her.

Virgil turned on his brother. “Gordon!” he hissed.

“What? I’m just showing a beautiful lady that she’s appreciated…”

“You don’t do it like that…”

“Forget her, Gordon, you’ve got no chance,” Bruce advised. “Lisa’s spoken for.”

“Oh.” Gordon looked disappointed rather than ashamed.

“Yeah,” Bruce snickered. “She’s shared your brother’s bed.”

“What?!?” Gordon turned wide, astonished eyes on to Virgil.

“Bruce!” Virgil exclaimed. “I wasn’t going to mention that.”

“Why not? Why have bragging rights if you don’t use them when the time is right?”

“Because he’s reading something into it that’s not there.”

Gordon was still looking at Virgil in astonishment and a degree of respect. “He’s kidding, isn’t he? You and her!!!”

“Bruce is pulling your leg, Gordon,” Virgil responded. “He’s using his twisted mind to twist the English language.”

A big, dinner-plate-sized, hand was slammed down on the table beside the auburn-haired Tracy. Gordon looked at it. “Who ordered steak?” There was a growl and he looked up into a furious face. “Down, Fido.”

“Gordon,” Virgil groaned. “Apologise would you? This is Butch, Lisa’s husband.”

“Butch?” Gordon stared at his elder brother as something clicked into place. “That Butch? The one who got you beaten up?”

“Butch didn’t get me beaten up.”

“That’s not the way I understand it.” Gordon stood and squared up to an obviously angry Butch Crump. “I want a word with you.”

Comparing the two men, Virgil realised that although Gordon was shorter than Butch, he matched him for muscle bulk. His aquatic brother may have lived the past year underwater, but he’d still managed to maintain his swimmer’s physique. “Gordon, sit down! Butch is my friend.”

“Your friend!?”

“Yeah,” Butch growled and stabbed Gordon in the chest with his finger. “And Lisa is my wife.”

“So you’re the guy who got Virgil beaten up and arrested?”

“And yar the guy who’s askin’ for trouble…”

“Butch!” Virgil jumped to his feet and sandwiched himself between the two antagonists. “You haven’t met my younger brother yet. This is Gordon.”

Butch frowned at this bit of information. “Yar younger brother?”

“Yes,” Virgil nodded. “I haven’t seen him in a year. He’s the joker of the family. You know? Always likes a laugh?”

“A laugh?” Butch gave a mirthless smile. “Well, since yar my friend, Virgil, and he’s yar brother. I’ll let him live…” He glared at Gordon. “This time.” He stabbed the air. “Keep away from Lisa.”

“Hey,” Gordon gave one of his disarming grins. “I was simply admiring your taste in women.”

Butch growled again at him and stalked over to the table where his wife was sitting.

Gordon turned back to Virgil. “You’re friends with that guy?”

“Yes!” Virgil glared at the younger man. “Can’t you show respect to others, Gordon?” and Gordon gave a casual shrug. “Why do you like living dangerously?”

Gordon grinned. “It keeps life interesting.”

“One day you’re going to do something really stupid get yourself killed!” Virgil exclaimed. “I wouldn’t mind except we’ll be the ones who’ll have to pick up the pieces.”

Gordon treated Virgil to a patronising pat on a bruised cheek. “What’s life without a few thrills?”

Virgil groaned and sank onto his seat, pulling his brother’s sleeve to get him to sit down next to him. “I have to work with these people.”

Gordon gave an unconcerned shrug, sat down again, and proceeded to tell Bruce all about the winning of his Olympic gold medal; replaying the story of his triumph, adding embellishments and drama.

Virgil tuned out. Even after a year underwater, he reflected, Gordon hadn’t changed and Virgil realised that he’d forgotten his brother’s bad points and only remembered the good times they’d had together.

Taking this opportunity to give the younger man a full evaluation, Virgil decided that Gordon looked fit and toned. His expensive shirt was open at the neck revealing a muscular chest and a tan that had to have come out of a bottle. Around his neck hung a medallion of gold, encrusted with diamonds. To Virgil, this medallion represented everything that was wrong with his brother.

The object, while it wasn’t a replica of the Olympic medal, shouted “I am the champion”. Its diameter was 34mm, half the size of the original; and it had been crafted by a master goldsmith out of 24-carat gold. Cast into one side was the number one and on the other a swimmer (Gordon) had been captured mid-butterfly stroke. Diamonds splashed out from the swimmer’s outstretched arms. The gaudy 3mm disc was suspended on a thick gold chain and hung between two well-defined pectoral muscles. The real Olympic gold had pride of place of the Tracy lounge and was a symbol of what Gordon had achieved. This garish facsimile was a symbol of what Gordon had become.

Virgil had long ago realised that it was winning that medal that had changed Gordon. Before he’d won that he’d been cheeky, but it was an inoffensive cheekiness, with no malice, that was guaranteed to elicit a smile from his victim. Then he’d won that medal. At first his family had put up with his cocky behaviour, deciding that anyone who had reached the peak of his chosen sport deserved the opportunity to bask in their hard won glory. But instead of dissipating Gordon’s attitude had hardened to outright arrogance. He was top dog and no one could take that away from him. His family had tried various ways of knocking this mind-set out of him, but he’d simply reasoned that they were jealous of his success and ignored them.

Virgil had eventually, reluctantly, come to the conclusion that as much as he loved his brother, there were times when he didn’t like him very much.

Part of the problem was that most people had never met an Olympic champion and were quite willing to hang off Gordon’s every word, just as Bruce was now. In this latest incarnation of his story, Gordon had mysteriously gained a case of cramp, which he was manfully battling through to the finish line…

“What did you think when you saw him there, Virgil?

“Huh?” Virgil tuned back in. “What?”

Gordon stared at him. “Weren’t you listening?”

“Gordon. I was there remember. I’ve heard you relive the day so many times I don’t need to listen. I know what happened. What really happened.”

“Do you ever want to swim competitively again?” Bruce asked.

“Me? Nah?” Gordon scoffed. “Been there. Done that. I need new challenges.”

“What are you going to do now that you’re out of the bathyscaphe? Are you going to work for your father too?”

“Yep.” Gordon winked at Virgil. “But before that, there’re one or two things that I might apply to do with WASP. Test drive some of their new craft; that sort of thing.” He tapped the side of his nose. “All very hush-hush, of course.”

The horn, announcing the end of lunch, squawked.

Virgil groaned. “Back to work I suppose.”

“I don’t have to,” Bruce grinned. “I’m still on sick leave.”

Gordon watched as a sea of blue overalls seemed to swell around him. “You’re all leaving just because a bell rings? I left that behind at school!”

“At least I know that when the bell rings at four-o-clock, I can walk out, go anywhere and do anything I want,” Virgil reminded him. “What could you do at the end of your shift?”

That familiar, much missed, impish grin returned. “Change your voicemail messages.”

“I still owe you for those.” Unwilling to leave his brother so soon after meeting him again, Virgil started walking backwards towards the door. “Can we catch up after work? Maybe fly home together?”

“Sorry, I promised Grandma I’d head home as soon as I’d seen you. She’s got some proper apple pie lined up for me.” Then Gordon stepped forward. “Com’ere, Virg.” The two brothers shared a sincere embrace. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too. See you tonight.”

“Nice meeting you, Bruce.”

“Yeah. It’s been interesting talking to a real Olympic champion.”

“Of course,” Gordon preened.

Virgil had nearly made it to the door of the canteen when Bruce stopped him. “Ah, Virgil. Turn around?”

“Huh.” Virgil complied and felt Bruce rip something from his back.

“Here,” trying to suppress a snigger, Bruce handed him a piece of paper. ‘Kick me’ it said. Virgil looked up in time to see his brother blow a kiss at him.

“Gordon!”

It was late in the afternoon and Virgil was packing. He’d been to the Mickelsons’, presented Aunty Edna with a big bunch of flowers and a promise to tune her car by way of thanks, grabbed his gear and then returned to his apartment. Scott was going to pick him up at 7.00pm to fly to the family homestead for Gordon’s homecoming party and he wanted to be ready to leave straight away. Last he’d heard, everyone in the family, apart from John of course, was arriving this evening so the festivities were starting tonight.

There was a knock at the door.

Glancing at his watch, Virgil reasoned that it was too early for Scott to make an appearance. Wondering who the visitor could be he opened the door.

It was Lisa Crump. She greeted him with an uncertain smile. “Can I come in for a moment?”

Virgil pretended that he was going to shut the door on her. “I’m not sure about that Lisa. You know what happened last time you turned up unannounced.”

She laughed. “It’s all right. I told Butch I was going to try to catch up with you. I’ve been trying to all week, but you haven’t been home.”

“No. I’ve been staying with friends.” Virgil stepped back. “Come in… Excuse the mess.” He picked up some things off a chair and indicated that she should sit down. “Scott’s going to pick me up soon. We’re heading home for Gordon’s homecoming party… Uh…” He remembered his brother’s actions from earlier in the day. “I should apologise for Gordon. He shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

She gave a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s only because he was your brother that Butch didn’t flatten him.”

“So I gathered. The only excuse I can offer up in his defence is that he’s been living in a bathyscaphe studying underwater farming methods. You’re probably the first attractive woman he’s seen in a year.”

“You don’t have to apologise on his behalf.”

“Well… Maybe…” Virgil shrugged. “If it’s any conciliation, if Grandma knew he’d treated you, or any woman, like that, he’d have more bruises than I’ve got.”

Lisa looked uncomfortable. “That’s why I’m here, Virgil. To apologise. When I asked for your help I honestly didn’t think that you’d get hurt. I didn’t think anyone would get hurt. I’m feeling really bad about the way things turned out.”

Virgil held up his hand. “Don’t. Even if you’d only asked me to your party as a guest, I probably still would have tried to help and got beaten up for my troubles.”

“Yes, but look at you… And poor Bruce… He wasn’t right on Wednesday, was he?”

Virgil remembered Bruce’s mid-week comments. “No he wasn’t. But he seems to be okay now. He’s hoping to be back at work on Monday.”

She gave a smile. “That’s a relief.” The smile slipped from her face. “But that’s not all I have to apologise for, isn’t it?”

“Well…” Virgil hesitated, wondering how much she’d remembered of her drunken Sunday morning.

“There’s…” Lisa seemed unsure how to continue. “I… I should have driven you and Bruce home from the police station.”

“That’s okay. We could see that you had a few things to say to Butch.”

“But you were arrested and charged because of us!”

“Don’t worry about it! We’ve been cleared, thanks in part to your nephew. I’ll just chalk it up to one of life’s experiences.”

“Well…” Lisa bit her lip. “Thank you for getting Butch the lawyer.”

“We’ll have to thank my father for that one,” Virgil reminded her.

“I’d like to do that in person if I ever get the chance,” Lisa said. “Will I meet him some day?”

Virgil smiled at the irony of her statement. “I’d practically guarantee it.”

“Good. Ah…” Seemingly wanting to say more, but not sure how to begin, Lisa studied a painting on the wall. “Is this one of yours?”

Virgil glanced at the scene of the palm lined beach. “Yes. That’s where we’re going to live from next year.”

“It looks nice.”

Virgil chuckled. “If I’m going to be living on an island full time with Gordon, it’ll have to be.”

Her eyes swung around to the bed and she coloured slightly. “That has got to be one of the most comfortable beds I’ve ever, ah, slept in.”

“I haven’t used it for a week,” Virgil admitted, trying not to imagine what else had happened there. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like.”

Lisa clenched her hands tightly together. “About last Sunday…”

Virgil was silent, letting her unburden herself in her own time.

“I don’t normally drink… Not like that anyway.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Virgil soothed.

“I was upset.”

“I know you were.”

“I love Butch.”

“I know you do, Lisa.”

“I know I said I’d leave him, I know I said I’d finished with him, but I didn’t want to lose him, so I went a little crazy.”

“That’s what I figured must have happened.”

“I made a fool of myself, didn’t I,” Lisa whispered; her voice so quiet that Virgil could barely hear her.

“At least you didn’t throw up in my car,” Virgil chuckled. “Sunday morning I wasn’t feeling well enough to clean it up.” Lisa gave a little sniff and he took sympathy on her. “Look. We’ll just forget about what happened, shall we? After all, nothing did happen. You were upset over losing Butch and I happened to meet you at the car park and, because I knew that’s where Butch was, took you home. End of story. I promise that I won’t mention the finer details to anyone, least of all Butch. Despite appearances I don’t have a death wish.” He laughed and after a beat Lisa joined in.

“You’re a good friend, Virgil,” she said.

He shrugged. “I do my best.

Lisa stood. “I’d better go. I’m holding you up.”

“That’s okay. You know how we men pack. We just throw a few things into a case.” Lisa gave a small smile and turned for the door. Virgil stopped her. “Ah… Lisa…? Can I say something to you…? As a friend…?”

Lisa Crump turned back. “Yes?”

“Look… Um…” Virgil hesitated, aware that he was about to tread sensitive ground. “You’re an attractive woman… A very attractive woman…” Lisa blushed as he continued his stumbling speech. “A lot of guys… if they’d been in my place last Sunday… wouldn’t have, um, hesitated to… ah…” he looked at his hands, “…you know.” He glanced up, making sure he looked Lisa in the eye. “What I’m trying to say is, ah, be careful what you say and who you say it to… Am I making sense?”

Lisa nodded. “I understand…” The blush returned to her cheeks. “Um… Did you want to… ‘you know’…?”

“Uh…” Suddenly flustered, Virgil reddened and looked at his watch. “Is that the time? Scott’ll be here any minute.”

Lisa smiled and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.” She turned back to the door. “Enjoy your weekend. I hope this party goes better than the last one.”

“I’m only sorry that I never got to play ‘Love Overcomes All’ for you both,” Virgil admitted, “Maybe I’ll fly back for your tenth wedding anniversary party and perform it then.”

“If we make it that far,” Lisa giggled. “Well, now that I’ve made my peace, I’ll leave you in peace.”

Virgil opened the door for her. “Thanks for coming, Lisa. I’ll see you Monday.”

“See you,” she responded as she stepped over the threshold. Then she stopped and turned back. “There’s one thing you haven’t thought of Virgil Tancy.”

Surprised, he stared at her. “What?”

“I wouldn’t offer to ‘you know’ with just any man. I’d have to think he was a pretty special guy…” Lisa gave a disarming smile. “See you Monday.” She flapped a cheerful wave and, walking as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, hurried away.

Virgil was still staring after her when Scott arrived. “What are you doing, Virg?”

Virgil gave a big sigh. “Just thinking about what might have been in another time and another place. You’re early aren’t you?”

“I wanted to check out the damage.” Scott grabbed Virgil by the chin and twisted his head so he could get a clearer view of the bruises. “Looks like you’ll soon have the girls chasing after you again.”

Virgil hit his hand away. “Am I going to have everyone doing that?”

“Quite probably.”

“It’s not as if I’m going to collapse into a heap,” Virgil threw the last couple of high-necked shirts into his bag. “It’s just a few bruises, cuts and grazes. Nothing serious.”

Scott grunted. “It was serious enough to take you out of circulation for a couple of days.”

“If you had the excuse to have Aunty Edna fuss over you and cook for you, wouldn’t you jump at the chance?”

Scott grinned. “Probably. Are you ready?”

“Yep.”

As everyone had made it to the Tracy home Friday evening, the party was held that night. Gordon, telling everyone who would listen that it was taking him time to acclimatise to being above water, insisted that every partygoer had to wear a silly hat. The hats, fish fins sticking out over their ears, and tails out the back, made it seem that the house had been invaded by a school of long-suffering mullet. The only reasons why everyone complied were because the Tracys were so pleased to have him home again that they were willing to pander to his whims, and because Gordon had the good sense to wear the silliest hat of them all.

Mrs Tracy was the first to abandon her headgear, complaining that it kept on falling off into her cooking. Virgil, annoyed by the headband that kept on rubbing on some of his grazes, escaped outside so that he could relieve himself of the irritation. He sat on the porch, feet up on the rail, nursing his drink and looking out over the comfortable familiarity of the back yard.

He was joined a short time later by Scott. “Had enough have you?”

“Yeah. I got fed up with Gordon’s friends shadow-boxing around me and asking me if I’d like to step outside.”

Scott laughed. “So you’ve stepped outside.”

Virgil chuckled. “Yes. I thought I’d commune with John.” He raised his glass skywards.

“Next week’s party’s going to be a totally different kettle of fish.”

Virgil groaned. “Please. Don’t mention fish.”

Alan appeared. “Is this where you guys are hiding? Couldn’t you take Gordon’s friends any more either?”

“No,” Scott agreed. “How did he manage to hook up with such a shallow bunch of jerks?”

“They’re the ‘in crowd’,” Virgil said moodily. “Someone as important as him couldn’t possibly be seen with ordinary folk.”

“Does that mean we don’t qualify as ‘ordinary folk’?” Alan asked.

“No. We’ve got money.”

“Ah. Automatic admission.”

“Yeah, we’ve paid our way in.”

Scott laughed. “You’re not in much of a party mood, Virg.”

“Well…” Virgil drawled. “I’ve been looking forward to today. I had hoped that a year away from that crowd would cure Gordon’s smugness. But it hasn’t worked. He insulted two of my friends at ACE.”

“Oh,” Scott looked at him over the rim of his glass as he sipped his beer. “I thought maybe you were in pain.”

“No. I’m fine.” In fact a couple of Virgil’s bruises were annoying him; mainly because Gordon, Gordon’s friends, and Alan, had insisted on slapping him on the back for much of the early part of the evening.

Scott placed his glass on a chair. “I’m going to give you advance warning, Alan.”

Alan looked at his eldest brother warily. “Yes…?”

“When you win this world championship…”

“I like it. When I win,” Alan beamed. “I’ll drink to that.” He raised his glass and had a mouthful of beer.

Scott ignored the interruption. “When you win, if you let your head get as big as Gordon’s, I’m going to personally take it down behind that shed,” he pointed to the ramshackle building disappearing into the gloom at the end of the yard, “and knock it back down to size.”

Virgil laughed. “You’d better get in line, Scott. Father and Grandma will want first crack.” He raised an eyebrow towards Alan. “Then I’m next in the queue.”

“After John,” Scott advised.

“Hey! This has nothing to do with age. I’m here, he’s not. I’m staking my claim right now!”

“Guys, guys…” Alan held up a placating hand. “I will do my best to ensure that I escape that terrible fate.” He sat up in his chair. “But in case I don’t, let’s grab Gordon now and we can all get in some practise.”

“Don’t tempt us,” Scott growled.

Jeff Tracy escaped his home and appeared surprised to find most of his sons sitting outside talking. “I left because I thought I was too old for that crowd. What’re your excuses?”

“We have a combined IQ of more than 40,” Scott said. “We couldn’t compete.” He removed his glass from the chair so that his father could sit down. “We were just warning Alan that with all the publicity he’s getting he’s got to keep his feet firmly on the ground…”

“That’s rich coming from a flyboy like you,” Alan snorted.

“And ironic when you’re talking to an astronaut about an astronaut,” Virgil added.

“But it’s good advice.” Jeff sat down and then grimaced. He reached into his back pocket and removed a handful of metal and plastic. “If anyone in there’s lost their car keys, you don’t know where to find them. I’ll pay for the taxis.”

“Well lubricated are they?” Scott asked, enjoying more of his own drink.

“Well, they’re well on their way. Your grandmother’s trying to get some solid food into them but I think she’s fighting a losing battle.”

A pounding beat could be heard through the walls and a short time later Grandma bustled outside, fanning herself with a paper serviette and shaking her head. “That noise! And they have the audacity to call it music…! Thank you, Honey.” She accepted Scott’s chair and he propped himself on the balustrade’s rail.

“What’s wrong with it?” Alan asked. “That song’s great!”

“It has all the melodic composition of marbles in your fuel tank,” Virgil insisted.

Alan screwed up his nose. “At least it has rhythm.”

“So does a metal press, but you don’t find me trying to dance to it.”

“I should hope not!” Jeff exclaimed. “I’d have to have words with Hamish if you did.”

The family laughed and relaxed; enjoying being together again.

The following morning, Virgil allowed himself the luxury of a short lie in. As comfortable as the Mickelsons’ spare bed was, it couldn’t compare with his own; even one that he hadn’t used in months.

When he finally surfaced he was greeted with the sight of his family seated around the dining table, still wearing the fishy headgear. “Please tell me we don’t have to wear those ridiculous hats,” he complained.

“His lordship has decreed that we have to wear them all weekend,” Alan moaned. “This is going too far, Dad.”

“We’ll wear them for breakfast and then we’ll have a ceremonial bonfire to cremate them at lunchtime,” his father suggested. “I’m sure Grandma’s got some marshmallows tucked away somewhere.”

“Well, I’m not going to wear mine on medical grounds,” Virgil stated. “And if anyone other than Gordon asks just what those grounds are, it’s because I’m sick of wearing it.”

Scott, tucking into his second helping of breakfast, stopped and stared at him in concern. “Are you sure that’s the only reason?”

“I’m sure. Where is Gordon anyway? Recovering after last night?”

“Yeah,” Alan dropped his knife onto his plate. “He’s getting in some time in the pool.”

As if to prove him wrong, Gordon, fully dressed, entered the dining room. “Mornin’ all,” he said; obnoxiously cheerful. “Hat, Virgil.”

Virgil lifted up a piece of cutlery. “Knife, Gordon.”

“We’re letting Virgil off wearing his hat this morning,” Jeff explained.

For a moment the brash demeanour was swept aside and the old, much loved Gordon resurfaced. He took a seat next to his brother. “Are you okay, Virg?”

Virgil almost felt guilty. “Yeah, I’m fine, Gordon. It gave me a headache, that’s all.”

“Is that why you left the party so early?”

“I wanted some fresh air,” Virgil replied, making sure that he was concentrating on his breakfast. “I was enjoying having a back yard again.”

“Oh,” apparently satisfied by the answer, Gordon reached across the table for a piece of toast.

“Gordon,” Jeff growled.

“What?”

“Ask for it: don’t reach for it!”

“Oh. Okay. Gimme a bit of toast, Scott.”

Scott didn’t move. “Gimme a bit of toast, Scott, what?”

“Um… Gimme a bit of toast, Scott, and the butter.”

“Gordon!” Grandma scolded.

“What?” Gordon appeared to be genuinely surprised by the lack of assistance.

“Okay. That’s it. I’m resigning from the mad hat squad.” Scott pulled his fish off his head, and threw it in the direction of the recycling bin. “I don’t know why I missed you, Gordon, and I pity the poor suckers you’ve been incarcerated with this past year.”

Alan indicated the yard with his head. “The shed’s out there.”

“Don’t tempt me…”

Things settled down as breakfast progressed and the Tracys began to enjoy Gordon’s company again. After they’d finished and were heading out of the dining room, much to Virgil’s surprise, he suggested that they watch a movie.

“In the morning?” Virgil asked. “Wouldn’t you rather be doing something outside?”

“This is a new martial arts movie,” Gordon explained. “It’s supposed to be really good. Full of action. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Yeah,” Alan confirmed. “This gang rides into town and the hero’s got to fight them all single-handed. It’s hot off the presses. It hasn’t even been released yet.”

Virgil stared at him. “Then how’d you get your hands on it?”

“Dad’s got contacts,” Gordon confided.

“C’mon, Virg,” Scott cajoled. “I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”

Virgil frowned. Something about this didn’t ring true, but it was a good excuse for the family to do something that they all enjoyed. He followed the rest of them into the lounge where the 150 inch TV hung on the wall, and where he chose a single seat rather than the couch. Prior experience had taught him that his siblings tended to get caught up in the fight sequences and he didn’t fancy having his still tender ribs elbowed by an over-excited brother. “What’s it called?”

“Um…” For some reason no one had an answer.

“What does it matter what it’s called?” Gordon asked, twisting around on his cushion on the floor, beside Alan. “If you know the title you’re going to start watching with preconceived ideas about what the show’s going to be like. This way you’re starting off with a clean slate.”

Virgil shook his head. That had to be one of the daftest things he’d ever heard.

“Shut up and push play,” Scott ordered. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Jeff Tracy entered the room and took the seat beside Virgil.

Gordon had control of the remote. He pressed the start button and an unsteady image panned across the screen. “Great cinematography.”

The opening instrumental appeared to have been played by an accomplished pianist on a less than accomplished piano and Virgil sat forward; recognising the opening bars. “Where did you get this!?”

“We told you,” Gordon replied, laughing. “Dad had contacts.”

Virgil turned to his father who was sitting beside him. “Mr Kirby?”

“He felt that, since I was paying his fee, I should see what really happened.” Jeff sounded subdued. “Your brothers haven’t seen it yet. I wasn’t going to show them, but…” He hesitated. “If you don’t want to watch, Virgil, we’d all understand.”

“No, it’s okay.” Virgil slumped back. “I suppose it’ll give me the chance to see what happened to everyone else.”

“Never mind that,” Alan complained. “Who are these people?” He let out a whistle when he saw Lisa. “Now she’s something!”

“That’s Lisa and that’s,” the camera moved onto her husband’s face as he sang ‘Something Good’, “Butch.”

“We’ve met,” Gordon said. “He’s all brawn and no brains.”

Virgil glared at the back of his brother’s head but refrained from comment. Beneath the applause he heard the piano segue into ‘Love Overcomes All’ and then peter out.

“Uh, oh,” Alan commented. “The bad guys have arrived.”

Virgil found himself briefly in shot as the camera panned around to Muzz and his cronies.

Gordon laughed. “And here comes the cavalry.” Virgil was walking from stage right across to the Skulz. “You can hear his spurs. Ka-ching. Ka-ching.”

“You look calm enough,” Scott noted.

“I didn’t feel it.”

In the echoing hall, the sound wasn’t ideal and Gordon and Alan started overlaying their own commentary as if they were watching a cheap western.

“Howdy, Sheriff.”

“This is ma town and I don’t want any trouble.”

“This town ain’t big enough fer the both of us.”

They were told to shut up by Scott.

“What did you say to them, Virgil?” his father asked.

“I was trying to politely ask them to go away.” Virgil screwed up his forehead as he tried to remember. “The leader’s name’s Muzz. He walked straight through me as if I wasn’t there. And then those three,” he pointed at the invited Skulz, “told him to leave.”

Now the action was heading out of doors. The pictured jumped about all over the screen as Jacob ran outside. Then it stilled. The young man had placed his camera on something solid.

“Apparently he was planning on standing on a wall and filming,” Jeff explained. “He’d put the camera down so he could climb up, but then his mother grabbed him and dragged him inside out of harm’s way. Fortunately for Virgil he’d left the camera running.”

Indeed, as they listened they could hear a woman’s voice; scolding, but with a touch of fear, “Come inside, Jacob… Now!” and a youngster complaining as it receded into the distance.

With no one to shift the viewing angle the Tracys now had a clear view of the gang. “Holy cow!” Gordon exclaimed. “There’s a whole school of them.” He turned so he could see Virgil. “You said there was ‘only a few’.”

Virgil treated him to a benign smile. “I might have understated that a bit.”

Scott fixed him with a penetrating stare. “What else have you ‘understated’?”

“Will you all shut up!” Alan demanded. “I want to hear what’s being said. Let’s rewind it…” he grabbed at the remote in Gordon’s hands.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“Why? You weren’t using it.”

“I was about to...”

Scott gave a sigh. “We’ve got the children home again… Gimme that!” He reached down and snatched the remote from Alan. “Now… How far back do we want to go…?” He rewound until Virgil, walking backwards, disappeared out of shot. “That’ll do…” He pressed play.

“Trouble?” a voice asked.

“That’s Bruce,” Virgil clarified.

“What’s that guy doing to that car!?” Alan asked; horrified at what was happening to the silver automobile that was just in the frame.

“That’s my car,” Virgil growled. “I haven’t got the bill for the repairs yet.” Alan shook his head in dismayed disgust.

“Virgil…” That was Lisa’s voice. “You won’t let them do anything, will you?”

“There must be at least 20 of them, Lisa.”

“Mr Cautious speaks,” Gordon laughed.

“I thought it was an honest evaluation! I wasn’t planning on getting beaten up.” Virgil watched as he strode back into view.

“Who’s the skinny guy behind you?” Alan asked.

“Bruce.”

“Ah… What’s he humming?”

“Mama told me not to come.”

“He should have listened to Mama.”

A mobile phone was demolished. “Bad move, guys,” Scott told the screen. “You’ve just made Virgil mad.”

“No. He just made Virgil nervous,” Virgil responded.

“Really? You can’t tell.”

“Whad is it, Butch?” Muzz asked. “Ya gonna listen to the poodle or to me?”

Gordon snickered. “What did he call you?”

Virgil ignored him as he watched the Skulz advance. He knew what was coming.

Lisa stepped into shot and called to Butch who turned. “What does she see in him?” Scott asked.

“He’ll look less rough once he’s got his tattoos removed,” Virgil informed him.

“Yeah, but I’ve seen him.” Scott gestured towards the TV screen. “He’s not exactly pinup material. Whereas she’s…” He shook his head in wonder. “What does she see in him?” he repeated.

“Virgil’s slept with her,” Gordon announced and three pair of astounded eyes turned on the middle brother.

“What!?”

“What Bruce actually said, Gordon; and if you’d been listening rather than bragging you’d know this; is that Lisa’s shared my bed.” Virgil folding his arms and glared at the red-head; hiding the satisfaction that he felt at the dumbfounded looks he was receiving.

“What!?!” Alan echoed. “But she’s married!”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Virgil…” Jeff growled. “I think you and I are going to have to have a talk later.”

Scott paused the video. “Come on, Virg, spill the beans. What happened?”

“If you want to know you could always ask Grandma.” Virgil, somehow, managed to keep a straight face. “She found Lisa coming out of my bathroom… Naked.”

His brothers gaped at him. “Naked!?”

“Grandma?” Scott exclaimed. “Saw her… Naked…? At your place…?!”

“Yeah.”

“Is that how you got the bruises?” Gordon asked.

Enjoying teasing his siblings, Virgil pretended to ignore them and turned to his father. “Where is Grandma anyway?”

“She doesn’t want to see this,” Jeff explained. “And having seen it myself, I don’t blame her.”

“Come on, Virgil,” Alan whined. “Tell us what happened.”

“I thought that was why you were watching the video.”

“Not with that! With her! With Lisa!!”

Scott sighed. “Give up, Alan. He’s not going to tell us.” He gave Virgil a sideways look. “Not now anyway...” He pressed play.

Even through the video camera’s lens, the Tracys could sense the change in the atmosphere in the car park. The Skulz looked ready to do battle and Virgil allowed himself a small smile when his brothers cheered after he successfully deflected the first blow.

The cheers turned to boos when he was hit. “Not a good move, Virg,” Alan said. “You should have been ready for that.”

“Trust me: there’s a big difference between a friendly bout in the gym and being attacked by a biker gang.”

Gordon had watched Butch keel over. “What happened to him? I didn’t see him get hit.”

“He wasn’t. He faints at the sight of blood,” Virgil explained.

“The big wuss.”

“Hey! No fair!” Alan exclaimed when Muzz took out Bruce. “He came at him from behind!”

“Let me remind you, Alan. Those guys weren’t playing by any set of rules.”

Scott pointed at the screen. “Is that a knife?”

Virgil sent the blade flying and the lounge erupted into cheers. “Way to go, Bro!”

The fight started in earnest. Virgil’s brothers, watching with the security of the knowledge that they were a week away from the action and that Virgil was in the room with them, enjoyed alternating between applause and cat calls.

The cheers stopped when Virgil doubled over from the blow that knocked him breathless.

“Ouch!” Gordon winced. “That’s gotta hurt.”

Virgil rubbed his midriff. “It did.”

Alan forgetting where he was, yelled, “Behind you, Virgil!” and then, embarrassed, looked about to see if anyone had noticed.

Butch took out Virgil’s potential attacker, Virgil struggled back to his feet to help Lisa, and the Tracy boys relaxed enough to enjoy the fight again.

“Nice move, Virg!” Scott congratulated when Virgil ducked out of the path of the head-butting bruiser.

Virgil didn’t reply. He knew that what was coming wasn’t going to be easy to watch… for any of them. He glanced at his father, who had a tight grip of the armrest of his chair, and wondered if he should stop the video there.

He closed his eyes when the Skulz attacked him with the strike across the throat that laid him out on the ground at the mercy of the gang. He winced as boots and fists pounded him. His ribs ached in sympathy with his virtual self.

Everyone else in the room was numb with the horror of what they were seeing.

Skulz scattered and Virgil, blood pouring from his face and soaking his shirt, staggered to his feet, and turned to face a cop…

The video finished, but the static continued to play on the screen as each of the Tracys contemplated what they’d just witnessed.

Eventually Scott turned the TV off, plunging the lounge into comparative darkness. He was the first to speak, venomously uttering the word that cast doubt on the bikers’ parentage. No one commented on his reaction and his father didn’t scold him; an indication that everyone empathised with his sentiments.

As one, they all turned to look at Virgil who offered them a wan smile. “I’m still here.”

His face white with the shock, Alan spoke. “You must have more bruises than what we can see!”

“A couple more.” Virgil pulled down the neck of his sweater, revealing the contusion that ran across his throat.

Scott repeated the word again.

“Scott,” Jeff rebuked; but with no real conviction.

Gordon slammed his fist into his palm. “I shoulda taken Butch out while I had the opportunity.”

“It wasn’t Butch’s fault,” Virgil protested. “He didn’t know they were itching to start trouble.”

“You said Lisa knew,” Gordon reminded him. “That’s why she asked you to be the bouncer.”

“She didn’t know,” Virgil corrected. “I was just there as insurance.”

“Nice,” Gordon sneered. “You save her life and then she just about gets you killed.”

“But why didn’t Butch tell them to leave?” Alan asked. “He must have known they were asking for trouble.”

“Up till then he regarded the Skulz as his family,” Virgil stated. “Would you think that any of us would take out your friends?”

“No…”

“I still think Butch needs to be taught a lesson,” Gordon growled. “Are the cops charging him?”

“No.”

“Why not? You saw how he went for the gang leader. You had to pull him off.”

“I don’t know ‘why not’, Gordon. I just know that…”

“Well I hope he gets what’s coming to him...” Gordon turned back to the TV. “Let’s watch this again. Are you staying, ‘Poodle’?”

Annoyed at being interrupted, and even more angry at the use of the unwanted nickname, Virgil glared at the redhead. “No, thanks. I’ve experienced it twice and that’s more than enough.” He stood. “I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy yourselves.” No one acknowledged him and he stamped out of the room as his brothers sat once again engrossed in the action on screen.

“Are you okay?”

Virgil turned to face his father. “I’m mad at Gordon… But apart from that I’m fine. No psychological after effects.”

“Good. Now, tell me, Virgil…” Jeff beckoned his son into his study and indicated that he should take a seat in front of the desk. “What’s this about you and Lisa Crump?” he asked as he claimed his own chair.

Virgil laughed. “Nothing happened. Lisa had been away for the weekend with a friend. A girl friend...” he added quickly. “She was sick on the way home and they happened to be near my place. I had to go to my first aid course so I let her sleep in my bed when I was gone. I thought she would have left by the time I got back and got a heck of a shock when I realised that she was in the shower. But I got more of a shock when Grandma and then Butch arrived...” He gave a rueful chuckle. “That was exciting.”

Jeff’s smile had slowly crept onto his face as Virgil recited the abbreviated version of events. “So you were winding your brothers up?”

“Yep.” Virgil laughed again. “Gordon said that he thought that Bruce had been a ‘positive’ influence on me… I’m not sure it’s in the right way.”

Jeff chuckled. “Well, that’s a relief. I don’t know what was more surprising: the thought of you having an affair with a married woman, or the knowledge that you’d been arrested for being in a brawl.” He shook his head. “Until I saw that video I never imagined that you’d been attacked as ruthlessly as you were. I’m amazed that you didn’t end up in hospital.”

“Not as amazed as I was.” Virgil gave a wry grin. “I thought I was in major trouble when they had me on the ground. I was lucky the police arrived when they did.”

“Yes, you were,” his father agreed. “Are you sure you’re all right? That was quite a beating you took.”

“I’m fine,” Virgil reassured him again. “Bruce was in worse shape that I was, but he’s coming right now. He should be back at work on Monday.”

“That’s good.” Jeff sat back in his chair. “I know how close they are, but I still can’t reconcile Lisa and Butch as a couple. She must have a strange taste in men.”

“Must do,” Virgil laughed. “She thinks you’re handsome.”

“She does?!” Jeff simultaneously bemused and flattered, tried to hide his embarrassment. “I… Uh… Well… I… Um… Well, now that we’ve got that cleared up…” He picked up a newspaper, flicked it open, and pretended to be absorbed by the news. “…I think I might see what’s happening in the ol’ home town.”

Virgil, left to his own devices, decided that it was high time he got some exercise again. The family pool was housed in a conservatory and he reasoned that his brothers would be too absorbed in watching him get beaten up to disturb him.

He took the first few laps slowly, letting his muscles get used to physical activity again. Eventually he was going full speed, oblivious of everything except the buzz that he got from pushing himself to his limits.

“Virgil!”

Virgil gave an inwards groan and finished his lap, ending up with his chest pressed against the side of the pool and resting his chin on his arms. “Yes?”

Scott was looking horrified. “Your back!”

Virgil feigned surprise. “I haven’t been anywhere.”

“No, I mean your back’s covered in bruises.”

“Really?” Virgil pretended to be astonished by the revelation. When he had checked himself out in the mirror he had preferred to think that it looked worse than it actually was. “I suppose that might happen if a gang jumps you.”

“But, from what I could see on the video, you weren’t hit there much.” Scott frowned. “And look at your arms...” Virgil pulled his hands under the water out of sight. “How badly injured were you?”

“Bad enough,” Virgil admitted.

“Can I see?”

“No.”

Scott looked surprised by the answer. “No?”

“No. I know what you’re like… What you’re all like. And you’ll all either wrap me in cotton wool or get some perverse delight out of seeing me flinch… Like Gordon and Alan were doing yesterday until Father told them to stop… Look, Scott,” Virgil pressed himself closer to the wall of the pool, “wasn’t it bad enough watching me get thrashed by that gang? Why do you want to see me all black and blue and every other colour you can think of? It looks worse than it is because I’m healing; and I’m healing well. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Scott slipped off his shoes and sat on the side of the pool so his feet could dangle in the water. “You’re right: it’s no fun watching you get beaten up. I’d had enough by the fourth rerun. The kids are still watching, but they’ve worked out that if they switch the video off when Butch helps Lisa to her feet, then they miss out on seeing you getting smashed.” He managed a dry chuckle before he looked at his brother. “I’ll tell you one thing I was thinking as I was watching you fight. I bet you could take on Lady Penelope and win.”

Virgil laughed. “I doubt it. Believing that you’re fighting for your life gives you that extra edge.”

“That makes sense...” A sly smile blossomed on Scott’s face. “Gordon hasn’t met her yet, has he? Shall we arrange a match?”

“After what he said about Butch, I’d be willing to get on the phone to London now.”

Scott barked out a laugh before he lapsed into thought; kicking at the water. “You haven’t asked me if I felt anything while the fight was going on.”

“No.” Virgil ducked his head under the water. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Why not? Aren’t you curious?”

“No!” Virgil snapped. “All I am is turning into a prune. Are you going to leave?”

Scott looked surprised at the vehement reaction. “What’s wrong? You’ve got a real issue about this supposed telepathic link we’ve got, haven’t you? How come?”

“You didn’t have to put up with everyone looking at you as if they were wondering what size padded cell to order!”

“Oh.” Scott bit his lip in thought. “Right...” Changing the subject, he lowered his voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Now… tell me about you and the luscious Lisa...”

“I had a feeling that’s why you were here.” Virgil mimed locking his lips together. “I’m not saying anything. That was between me and her.”

Scott gave a genial smile. “I figured you’d say that... Okay,” he got to his feet. “I’ll leave you in peace…”

“Is this where you guys are?”

Scott sent Virgil a sympathetic look. “I was just leaving, Alan.”

Gordon smirked. “Leaving the poodle to practise his doggie paddle?”

Scott’s face hardened. “Did you guys want something?”

“Yeah,” Alan beamed. “Dad’s been reading the paper. The ‘Eagles’ are playing today at Patton Park.”

“Yes?” Virgil brightened. They’d all been rabid supporters of the Eagles when they were kids and each had harboured a secret (or not so secret) desire to play for their team one day.

“It gets better,” Gordon said, his face alight with enthusiasm. “They’re playing the ‘Rocks’. Or, more correctly, going to do to them what the Skulz did to Virgil.”

“The ‘Rotten Rocks’?” Scott asked, using the Tracys’ boyhood nickname for the neighbouring town’s team. “Oh, boy! We’ve gotta see that.”

“Dad’s on the phone now getting tickets,” Gordon said. He looked at his watch. “The game’s due to start in an hour.” He looked pointedly at Virgil.

“Let’s go tell Father that we’re all going…” Scott tried to usher his youngest brothers out of the conservatory.

But Gordon wasn’t having it. “Are you going to stay in there all day, Virgil?”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

Gordon gave an evil grin. “Do you want a hand getting out, Poodle?”

Virgil felt his jaw muscles tighten. “No, thank you.”

“Come on, Gordon,” Scott ordered. “Leave him alone.”

He was ignored. “Perhaps you’d like your coat rubbed dry?”

“Gordon!” Scott snapped.

Virgil counted to ten… Slowly…

“And then we could throw you a stick to fetch.”

“Leave me alone, Gordon,” Virgil snarled.

“Whoa!” Gordon took a step backwards. “Down boy. I think someone needs their belly rubbed.” He turned to his dry siblings. “Want to give me a hand, fellas?”

Alan looked at Scott. “The shed?”

Scott nodded. “The shed.”

They grabbed Gordon by the arms and proceeded to drag him, protesting, backwards out of the room.

…Until they bumped into their father. “Where are you boys off to?”

Scott gave a false smile. “We’re just going to show Gordon how pleased we are he’s home again.”

But Jeff didn’t seem to be listening. “I’ve just had a call from the space agency. They’ve delayed John’s return flight.”

Scott and Alan released their hold on Gordon. “Delayed it?” Scott frowned. “Why?”

“The same hurricane that finished Gordon’s time underwater is due to hit the spaceport any day,” Jeff explained. “The earliest John’ll be back on terra firma is July 5th.”

“Great,” Virgil moaned. “I’ve got to be at work. That’s unless the boss gives me some time off?” He looked hopefully at his father.

“No, I want you on site,” Jeff said. “Hamish has planned for Thunderbird Five’s panels 1347 to 2387 to go through the plant over the next two weeks. I want you there to keep an eye on everything. I’m sure John will understand.”

Virgil hoped he was right.

“And you’ve got me programmed to visit the plant in England that’s producing some of the electronics,” Scott added. “Do I still have to go?”

“I’d rather you did. It’s crucial that they are all manufactured to specifications.”

“Well, it might be a public holiday, but I’m working all week,” Gordon said. “But I’m due a day off so I’ll make sure I catch up with him,” and sounded sincere when he added, “I can’t wait to see him again.”

“We’ll be shifting circuits,” Alan remembered. “I’ll be spending that week setting up and getting in some practise laps…” Then he brightened. “Hold on! We’re moving to Risen Park. It’s only an hour’s drive from here, less in a plane. The race is on the following Saturday. Why don’t we meet at the track? Once you’ve watched me wipe everyone else out of the park we could all fly back here for a double celebration!”

“So speaks Mr Modesty,” Gordon said, and seemed unaware of the irony in his statement.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Scott stated. “Everyone agree?”

“I’ll email John and let him know.” Jeff looked at his watch. “If we’re going to catch this game we’d better get moving.”

But Gordon didn’t budge. He stood there, arms folded. “We can’t go until Virgil gets out of the water.”

Virgil was sick of his brother’s taunts. He was also cold and eager to get to the game. “Fine!” He hauled himself out of the water and, ignoring his family’s horrified stares, stalked over to the chair that held his robe. “I’m going to get changed. ‘Scuse me.” He pushed his way out between his siblings.

He was ready in double quick time and met the rest of the family in the lounge. No one commented on what they’d seen; a fact for which he was profoundly grateful.

There was a knock at the door and Mrs Tracy answered it.

“Hey, Mrs T. Is Gords in?”

Gordon’s face lit up as his family’s collective heart sank. “Marrin!”

“Hey, Gords.” Marrin pushed past Mrs Tracy, who was frowning her disapproval. “Watcha doin’ here? We’re off to the lake.”

“The lake? Great.”

“Marrin,” Jeff Tracy said, staring the young man down. “It is customary when you enter another person’s house to greet them… or at least acknowledge their existence.”

“Hey, sorry, Mr T. No hard feelin’s, right? But Gords has been gone for a long time. We’ve got a lot of catchin’ up to do.”

“And we haven’t?” Scott asked.

“Hey, don’t be so starchy, Scotty. Lighten up. You’ve been pullin’ too many G’s?” Scott’s face took on a similar expression to that of his father and grandmother’s.

“There’s room for two behind the shed,” Alan whispered to Virgil.

“Just make sure that I get Gordon.”

“We were about to go and watch the Eagles play the Rocks,” Jeff was explaining. “If you’ll excuse us, Marrin…”

“Man, that’s lame. I’m tellin’ ya, Mr T., you’re wasting time and money goin’ to watch that buncha no-hopers. You should watcha real sport like ‘space hoppin’. Then you’ll see real men do their stuff.”

“We’ve followed the Eagles for as long as we’ve lived in this town,” Jeff explained. “It’s a family tradition.”

“I never picked you to be a bunch of suckers, Mr T.”

Jeff’s lips were a thin angry line. “Have you got a job yet, Marrin?”

“You mean that nine-to-five drag? Nah.”

“Then it might be wise to show a little respect to one of the main employers in the area.”

“Me? Work for you?” Marrin laughed. “No ‘ffence meant, Mr T. But your factories are for losers.”

“And how do you propose to earn a living?”

Marrin mimed playing a riff on a guitar. “I’m a musician; right, Gords? My band’s called ‘Off the Rails’.”

“At least he’s got something right,” Alan whispered.

“If he’s a musician then I’m an aquanaut,” Virgil responded.

Alan laughed in reply and received a strange look from Marrin. “You okay, Allie.”

Alan scowled at him. “I’m fine, Moron.”

“It’s Marrin.”

“Sorry.” Alan nudged Virgil who, trying not to laugh, felt his ribs start to ache. He rubbed them.

“Hey, Virgie? What’s the matter? The ol’ war wounds actin’ up?” Marrin started shadow-boxing around Virgil. “C’mon. Let’s see your stuff.”

“You don’t want to take him on,” Alan warned. “We’ve seen the video of that fight he was in the other night. There must have been at least 100 of them. All big, tough gang members armed with knives and knuckle-dusters. And Virgil took them on single handed.”

Marrin laughed. “C’mon, Allie. You’re jokin’.”

“No, I’m not,” Alan kept a straight face. “Am I, fellas?”

Virgil tried to look modest as Scott, and even Gordon, agreed with Alan’s lie.

“Oh.” Marrin took a step backwards. “Hey, no hard feelin’s, Virgie?”

Virgil folded his arms and frowned disapprovingly on the interloper. “The name’s Virgil,” he drawled. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Virgil. Right. Got it. Are you comin’, Gords?”

“Yep.” Gordon grabbed his jacket and, without another word disappeared out the door. His family looked at each other.

Jeff sighed. “Welcome home, Gordon,” he said.

Chapter 10: A Quiet Departure

“Do you think he’ll tell us?”

“Do I think who’ll tell us what?”

Gordon gave a sigh of exasperation and looked at Virgil. “Where have you been? Do you think John’ll tell us about Tracey?”

Virgil leant on the rail that circled the race circuit. “He’ll have to, surely. She must have had the baby by now. Didn’t he say anything when you saw him the other day?”

Gordon shook his head and gave a guilty grin. “And to be honest, I was that pleased to see him and had so much to tell him; I forgot to ask him.”

Scott strode over to his brothers. “Hey, Guys.”

“Any sign of him?” Virgil asked.

“No. Grandma’s demanding that Father calls the space agency to make sure that he wasn’t held up.”

“Maybe he stopped off to see Tracey and the baby?” Virgil suggested.

“Do you know what I think?” Gordon asked. “I think that you’ve made this ‘John got this woman pregnant’ thing up. Come on,” he nudged Virgil’s newly healed ribs, “you can tell me. You’re joking, right?”

Scott smirked. “Look who you’re asking, Gordon.”

Gordon laughed. “Oh, yeah. Mr ‘I wouldn’t know a joke if it jumped up and bit me’. Enough said.”

Virgil ignored the assassination of his character. “Do you think Scott’s joking?” he asked Gordon. “He saw her too. So did Alan, and Father, and Grandma.”

“And under that weight of evidence, I suppose it is possible that you’re not joking.” Gordon admitted. “But, somehow, it just doesn’t seem plausible. Not John! He’s… He’s…” He frowned as he tried to find the right word. “He’s so quiet!”

“They’re the ones you’ve got to watch,” Scott said.

Gordon gave a cockeyed grin. “Does that mean you trust me?”

“Nope…”

Alan, clad in his racing overalls, jogged up the steps and over to his siblings. “Is he here yet?”

Scott shook his head. “No.”

“Do you think he’ll tell us about Tracey and the baby?”

Virgil shrugged. “We don’t know.”

“Do you think he’ll tell us if he’s made up his mind about joining the business?”

Alan’s brothers looked at one another. This was something that they’d all wondered, but hadn’t cared to mention.

Gordon gave another tiresome nudge in Virgil’s ribcage. “You know why he’s taking the time to think about it. Tell us!”

“I’ve told you before that I’m not going to tell you,” Virgil reminded him.

“Why all these secrets all of a sudden?” Alan asked. “You still haven’t told us about Grandma finding Lisa naked in your bed.”

“That’s because she didn’t find her naked in my bed. She found her naked coming out of my shower.”

“Come on, Virgil,” Alan whined. “We promise that we won’t tell anyone else. It’ll help kill some time.”

Virgil grinned, enjoying a feeling of superiority over his brothers. “Nope.”

“Well, at least we know he’ll never give us away,” Gordon snorted. “He clams up tighter than a bivalve mollusc.”

Alan looked at his watch. “How much longer is John going to be?”

“We don’t know…” Gordon gestured behind them. “But I think we’re close to finding out.”

Jeff Tracy was striding towards his sons with a purposeful gait. “He’s about a mile away,” he announced. “He got held up in the traffic coming here to the racetrack. The authorities have given us permission to use one of the offices so we can have a bit of privacy. Come on.” He led the way.

“I hope he’s not too late in arriving,” Alan said as they entered the building. “I’ve only got a ten minute break. Do you think he’s changed at all?”

“He might glow green when you turn the lights off,” Gordon suggested. “Or have an antenna growing out of the centre of his forehead.”

Everyone ignored him.

“John’s only been gone a month,” Scott reminded his kid brother. “Look at Gordon. We haven’t seen him in a year and he’s still the same pain in the butt that he always was.”

“Where’s Grandma?” Virgil asked.

Jeff gave a wry grin. “She’s elected herself in charge of traffic movements. She’s going to direct him into here.”

He’d no sooner spoken when they heard a familiar voice in the outer office. “John!”

“Hi, Grandma. You’re looking wonderful.”

“Mmmn.” That sounded like a hug and a kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you. Have you made any apple pie for me?”

“Oh, you boys! You only think about your stomachs.”

“Believe me; I’ve thought a lot about your cooking while I’ve been away… Where is the rest of the clan?”

“In here…” and Grandma stepped through the door closely followed by her grandson.

John looked fit and well. Living in a space station had obviously suited him.

Virgil, oblivious to the fact that his father had held his brothers back, or of the bewildered looks they shared, stepped forward to greet his elder brother. “It’s good to see you, Johnny.”

“Virg!” The two men shared a warm hug. “Boy, I’m glad to see you.”

“Sorry I couldn’t get to see you this week, but I had to sit my first aid exam. I’d already deferred it once and I couldn’t ask them to do it again.”

John smiled and Virgil, unaware that he’d been so tense, relaxed. “That’s okay. I’m just happy to see you in one piece! How do you think you did?”

“I passed, of course.”

“Of course.” John looked across to his father. “Hi, Dad.”

“Welcome back down to Earth, John,” Jeff stepped forward and his sons took it as an indication that they were free to do the same. “I think you’d better say a quick hello to Alan first. He’s got to get ready for the race.”

“And I’m looking forward to seeing it, Kiddo,” John grinned. “How do you think you’re going to go?”

Alan was beaming. “It’s going to be tricky on this track, but the car’s running sweeter than it ever has and, now that I’ve seen you, I’m feeling great!”

John smiled at him. “Then get out there and show those old timers that you can foot it with the best of them.”

“Right. See you after the race, John. Then we’ll have a double celebration!”

“You can count on it, Alan.”

Alan raced out the door and John turned back to the rest of the family. “Now… How hard is it going to be for me to guess who it was who thought that the first thing I’d want to do after being out in the clean silence of space, is spend an afternoon at a noisy, smelly racetrack?”

“Not hard at all,” Scott said.

“Alan. I thought as much. How are you, Scotty…?”

When they’d finished their hellos they made their way to the shared corporate box that was to be their home for the afternoon.

Not that they made much use of the facilities. None of the Tracy boys listed watching motor sport as a hobby to be enjoyed. Virgil would have rather been in the pits tinkering with the engines than watching grown adults go round and round in circles. Gordon liked watching competitive sports on the television, but preferred those of an aquatic variety where he could shout insults at the competitors and criticise their technique. John had always enjoyed quieter, more intellectual pastimes, and Scott simply couldn’t understand why anyone would feel the need to attach something to a vehicle to prevent it from flying off into the air.

But, as united as the brothers were in their apathy towards car racing, they all equally loved watching their youngest brother compete on the track.

The Tracys spent most of the time leading up to the headline race at the back of the box getting reacquainted, listening to Gordon’s exploits, and, when he could get a word in, finding out about John’s time in the space station. All to the background drone of cars speeding around the circuit and the intrusive squawking of the track announcer.

At last the tannoy announced the main event and the family crowded by the window, jostling for the best position.

Gordon pressed himself to the glass. “We’ve got a great view of the home straight. Look. There’s Alan’s car.” The family watched as the red vehicle was precisely positioned in place on the third row of the grid.

“So he didn’t manage pole position,” John commented. “He won’t be happy about that.”

“He was too excited about having the family together again,” Jeff said. “He’ll have settled down now.”

“And here comes the revelation of the year: rookie driver Alan Tracy,” the tannoy burbled; and Alan, his helmet already on his head to frustrate photographers, walked out to his car, deep in conversation with his manager and coach. He slid into the cockpit, and the steering wheel was fixed into position.

“He’s in serious mode,” Scott approved. “If he can carry that attitude over to the family business he’s going to be an asset to the team.” He glanced towards his second youngest brother. “We’re all going to have to learn to leave our egos at home and focus on what we’re doing if we’re going to succeed.”

Already bored by the lack of action, the comment seemed to go straight over Gordon’s head. “So… John? Anything ‘interesting’ happen while you were away that you think you should tell us about?” he asked in another unsubtle attempt to fish for information.

But John didn’t take the bait. “Lots about stars, and nebulae, and quasars. But nothing that would interest a bozo like you. I’ll tell you one thing though,” he added, brightening. “I’ve thought of this brilliant idea for a communications device. One we can wear everywhere and no one will even know we’ve got it. One we won’t need to tap into a public network to use.”

“We could have done with that last year when Scott crashed his plane,” Virgil remembered. “You said so at the time.”

“That’s what got me thinking about it; but it took being on a satellite to bring it to fruition. I’ll start making us one each as soon I’ve got a spare moment. I’ve already asked Brains to order the parts.”

“And the competitors are all ready for the start of the fifth race in the series,” the tannoy announced. “The question in everyone’s mind is can young Alan Tracy overtake Victor Gomez in the championship standings?”

“Of course he can,” Gordon told the invisible speaker. “And if you’d hurry up and get this show on the road he’d show you!”

“Calm down, Gordon,” Jeff admonished, mindful that they weren’t the only group in the box awaiting the race.

The roar of the expectant crowd and the straining cars penetrating even their relatively sound-proof box, they had to wait a further two minutes before the green light was given.

“And they’re off!” the tannoy announced, even though the cacophony of sound and flashing lightbulbs had heralded the start of the race. “Alan Tracy’s already up to fourth position as Franseco Cameron gets caught up in a duel with Ajax Tunnicliffe.”

The Tracys cheered.

The cars rounded the first corner, Alan hot on the tail of the third-placed car. It was another three laps before he overtook him, slotting easily into a podium-finish winning position. Now he only had two vehicles between him and victory. He took a corner too fast and fish-tailed out of it, losing precious fractions of a second.

“Take it easy, Kiddo,” John advised. “You don’t want to blow it.”

The announcer was giving an in-depth account of the race and every time Alan’s name was mentioned, the Tracys shouted their encouragement to the youngest member of their family.

“Young Alan Tracy might be only in his first year driving at this level, but he’s driving like a seasoned pro…

“Tracy nearly had Quigly then. It was only the intervention of number 63 that held him back…

“And there’s Alan Tracy, thundering down the home straight like a rocket launching for the stars.”

“He’s getting in some early practice,” Gordon quipped and was shushed by his family.

It was a nail-biting race. Every time Alan seemed ready to pounce on the second-placed car a corner or a slower vehicle would hold him back. Finally, on the penultimate lap, he seized his chance and when number two took a corner wide, Alan slipped beneath him and emerged from the bend in second place.

“Go Alan!”

Now Alan’s target was Victor Gomez. Slowly the young Tracy reeled in the more experienced driver.

They flashed past the finish line for the second-to-last time.

Alan was on Gomez’s bumper, so close that from this distance the Tracys weren’t sure that they weren’t touching. Nose-to-tail the two cars chased each other around the track. Gomez doing all he could to keep the young man from overtaking.

“What’s he doing!?” Scott exclaimed. “He’ll kill himself!”

“Slipstreaming,” Virgil replied. “He’s using the region of reduced pressure behind Gomez’s car to be pulled along at the same speed.”

“I know what slipstreaming is,” Scott retorted. “But that’s not slipstreaming. That’s suicide!”

Still maintaining his position glued to Gomez’s tail, Alan was sliding closer to the wall. Now all that stood between the two competitors and the finish line was the final corner and the home straight.

Gomez rounded the corner and Alan, seeing the tiniest gap between his nemesis and the barrier at their side, nudged the rear of the leading car. Gomez, his momentum already moving at an angle to the final straight, spun out, lost control, and ended up inches from crashing into the opposing wall. Facing the wrong way, he could do nothing but watch as the cars that had been following him the entire race passed him with ease.

Alan, his quick reflexes avoiding the potential accident caused by Gomez’s misadventure, slipped through the cloud of dust and into first place. Now, with no obstacle to his victory, he roared down the final few metres to the finish. Jubilant he punched the air.

Up in the corporate box his family were more subdued.

“Gomez made a mistake, didn’t he?” Grandma asked. “I didn’t just see Alan deliberately ram him off the track?”

“Was that legal?” John asked.

Jeff nodded. “Unfortunately it is in this class.” He glared though the window to his youngest son. “Legal doesn’t make it right though.”

Virgil glanced at his father whose angry face was set like stone; then he looked back down to the pits. Triumphant with his win, Alan had clambered out of the cockpit and was standing on the bonnet celebrating with his pit crew.

But not everyone in the pits was celebrating. Victor Gomez stormed over to the Team Tracy enclosure and pulled Alan off the car. Alan managed to maintain his footing, pushed the older man back, and made a gesture that obviously challenged Gomez to a duel. Gomez, fist raised, rushed back at the younger man.

“Oh, boy: a fight!” Gordon enthused. “Wait for Virgil, Alan. He needs the practise.”

“Shut up, Gordon,” Virgil responded and watched as Gomez’s and Alan’s support crews hauled the two men apart.

Most of the anger and concern had dissipated from the Tracys when the seven of them gathered around the family dining table for a celebratory meal that evening. Alan, still on a high after his win, was talking excitedly, shooting questions at Gordon and John and barely giving them time to respond.

“Wasn’t it disconcerting having all that water above you, Gordon? Knowing that it would only take one little crack in the bathyscaphe and you’d be history?”

Gordon laughed. “Don’t be stupid, Alan. There was no way that bathyscaphe would ‘crack’. It was designed to be indestructible.”

“So was the Titanic,” John reminded him.

“Yeah. But the Titanic didn’t have me at the helm.”

“Has Tracey had her baby yet?” Alan asked, changing course as quickly now, as he had on the racetrack earlier that day.

“Yes, she has: a little girl.” John gave a delighted smile. “Tracey told me that you’d offered to help, Dad. Thanks for that. I really appreciate it.”

Jeff’s eyes had narrowed. “It seemed the least I could do under the circumstances.”

“Does she have a name?” Grandma asked.

“Toni Jocey Cullen,” John stated. “That way she’s got a combination of her parents’ names, without all the confusion.” He grinned. “Tracey got her wish too. She was late going into labour. They were talking about inducing her but she managed to wait a week until ‘Little Johnny’ arrived.”

“So now what?” Gordon asked.

John frowned. “Now what, what?”

“Now that little Johnny’s home and her mother’s got everything she wanted. What’s her father going to do?”

“Oh!” The frown cleared. “He’s applied for a position with the ground crew for the next few space missions. He’s had his time in space and now it’s time to settle down on Earth and be a family man. He’s not planning on going anywhere far from home any time soon.”

“Oh…” an air of despondency seemed to settle over the Tracy family.

John noticed the collective disappointment. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, John,” his father replied. “We just want you to be happy.”

“Well… Thanks.” John frowned again, confused by the sentiment.

Grandma placed her hand on his arm. “When will we get to meet Toni?” she enquired.

“I suppose we can arrange that for any time you’re in town,” John said. “I popped in to see them the first day I had free, but apart from that I’m leaving them alone for a couple of weeks to get used to being a family. Tracey says that after not having Toni’s father about for so long, it’s taking her time to get used to having a man about the house again.” He shrugged. “So I’m giving them some space.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Jeff rumbled.

“They were quite grateful when I explained why I’m doing it,” John responded. “But I did say that if they needed anything they only need to call me. Besides, they knew that my first priority was to see my family again.” He spread his arms wide. “So here I am.”

“What does Tracey’s family think of this?” Scott asked.

“They’re glad.” Bemused, John’s family looked at each other. “Tracey’s got enough stress in her life at the moment, what with her father, the new baby and everything, and they’ve been worried about her.”

“I’ll bet they have,” Alan said.

“Little Johnny was seriously considering applying for the next mission, but now he’s decided to stay home and be a family man…” John looked around the sea of confused faces. “What?”

“John…” Scott cleared his throat and sat forward. “I know everyone here is dying to ask this question and that you’re going to think that we’re all mad, but… What is your relationship with Tracey?”

“Huh?” John looked at him incredulously. “She’s a friend, of course.”

“A friend...? You mean…” Virgil, like everyone else, was still trying to get his head around what he was being told. “She’s not your…? You’re not her…?”

“Not what?” John stared at him. Then realisation dawned. “You mean you all thought that I…” He threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t believe it…” he chortled. “You thought I was Toni’s father? Priceless!”

“You might think it’s ‘priceless’, John,” Jeff growled, “but I think you’d better go back and start from the beginning.”

John leant forward. “Tracey is married to Little Johnny.” He received blank stares. “You know... Little Johnny! Come on! You must have heard of him. John Cullen! Seven foot one inches in his stocking feet and so many muscles that they had to put an extra booster rocket on just to get it off the ground… Little Johnny!”

“But… But…” Alan stammered. “But she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”

John was still laughing. “Her hands had swollen up with the pregnancy. She was wearing her rings on a chain around her neck… I must have told you about her!”

“You certainly didn’t tell me, John,” his grandmother informed him.

“I didn’t? Well…” John mused. “That’s one of the problems of being part of a large family. You think you must have told someone, assume that you’ve probably told everyone, but don’t actually tell anyone…” He leant on the table and began his explanation. “Tracey Cullen is married to John Cullen and they’ve just had a daughter, Toni Jocey Cullen. Do you remember now?” He gaped at the shaking heads. “You must have heard me talk about them! Little Johnny has been on a three-month tour-of-duty on the space station. He came back on the return flight of the one I went up on… Just in time too. Tracey had Toni the day after he got back... Understand...? Tracey is just a friend!”

Grandma humphed. “It didn’t sound like she was ‘just a friend’ when you were saying goodbye.”

“That was the hormones,” John explained. “Don’t you think that if I was going to be a father I would have told you?”

“You might have thought you told one of us, assumed you told all of us, but in reality told none of us.”

“Me?” John raised his hands in surrender. “You know how shy I was when I joined the space agency. Grandma, you used to say I was as quiet as a church mouse…”

“True,” Gordon agreed.

“But, as someone else recently said,” John glanced at Virgil, “I’ve come out of my shell these last few years. That’s partly because Tracey and Little Johnny kind of took me under their wing. Little Johnny showed me the ropes at work and Tracey made sure that I… what was her phrase…? ‘Had the woman’s touch.’ She made sure I was eating properly, always had clean clothes, that kind of thing. I think they must have thought I was a hopeless male, despite the fact that I kept on telling her that I’d been well trained by my Grandma... Anyway, they became a kind of surrogate family to me. And when Little Johnny was on the space station I repaid the favour keeping an eye on her for him. Her father’s got cancer and her mother can’t leave him for any length of time, so I made it my job to make sure Tracey was okay, was looking after herself and the baby, and was getting to her obstetric appointments on time.” He smiled. “It was the least I could do after all the help they’d been to me. Tracey even asked me to go with her to her antenatal classes and to support her during the birth if Little Johnny didn’t make it home in time.”

Alan stared at him. “She did what!?”

John chuckled. “I wasn’t that keen on the idea at first, but then I thought, why not…?” he picked up his cup and toyed with it, watching what remained of his coffee roll around. “I went to the courses, hoping like mad that I’d never have to use what I learnt, but figured the knowledge might come in handy if I ever find myself on a rescue and have to help deliver a baby. Of course I missed out on the practical experience because I was on the space station at the time.” He shrugged. “Oh well. C’est la vie.”

Stunned silence had met his pronouncement and his father was the first to find his voice. “What did you say, John?”

John’s reply was as emotionless as if he was discussing the weather. “C’est la vie. It’s French. It means ‘that’s life’.”

“We’re aware of that,” Scott remonstrated. “Did you say on a rescue? Does that mean you’ve decided you’re going to join International Rescue?”

John gave a casual shrug. “I may have done.” He grinned… And was pounced on by his brothers and found himself caught up in a headlock. “Hey! Get off!”

“Let him go, boys,” Jeff instructed, but it was more of a fond request than a demand. “Why the change of heart, Son?”

“Lots of little things.” John shrugged. “But I knew I’d made the right decision when I was on the space station. After spending all my life looking up towards the stars, this was the first opportunity I’d had to look back down onto the Earth. I suddenly found myself wishing that I had some way of protecting her from all her troubles. And then I realised that there was a way… a small way in the grander scale of things, but I knew that I could do something… And then I realised that I needed to be part of your dream, Dad. It became my dream too.”

Jeff, taken aback by the speech, smiled. “Thank you, John.”

“And if you idiots,” John indicated his brothers, “hadn’t simply assumed that I’d go along with whatever you said, and had actually asked me my opinion during that phone conference, I would have told you that I intended to be a member of International Rescue. But you all… all except Virgil,” he favoured his younger brother with a warm smile, “blithely carried on as if I didn’t have a mind of my own. So I thought: Right! If that’s the way you want it, you can stew until Thanksgiving...!”

“Stew! I think we stirred ourselves into a full casserole,” Gordon exclaimed.

“You’ve given us a good lesson,” Scott admitted. “And it’s one we shouldn’t have needed to be taught… Sorry, John.”

“I’m sorry too,” John added. “I’m sorry that I left you wondering too, Dad.”

“If… what’s his name…? John Cullen’s ‘Little Johnny’,” Alan began, looking askance at his svelte brother, “does that make you ‘Big’ Johnny?”

John chuckled. “No. There’re four Johns in the astronaut programme and we’ve got nicknames to differentiate between us all. John Cullen’s ‘Little Johnny’, Jon Egan’s ‘Egg’, and John Galloway’s ‘Steer.”

“And John Tracy?” Gordon asked.

“Arnie.” John reddened and looked down. “Arnold Junior.” He said quietly.

Arnold. Jeff Tracy’s nickname when he was in the astronaut corps. Virgil suddenly had a clearer understanding of John’s frustrations at being ‘forced’ to toe the family line. For the first time in months he was glad of his own deception at work. John, even when he’d made the break on his own into the world and followed his own career choice, was constantly reminded that he was still regarded as Jefferson Tracy’s son.

The following afternoon Virgil was in his childhood bedroom, listening to his stereo as he threw his things into his bag in preparation for his flight back ‘home’. He was interrupted by John. “I thought I’d better warn you.”

Virgil stared at his brother. “Warn me? Warn me what?”

“We’re back in Kansas!”

“Kansas?! Who’s in trouble this time?”

“Alan.”

“Alan? What’s he done?”

“Dad hit him up about that stupid stunt he pulled on the racetrack yesterday and Alan’s none too pleased at being told how to drive a race car. They’re shooting at each other with both barrels.”

“Oh, heck.” A hot-tempered younger brother and an equally determined father did not always make for an easy combination. “Where are they?”

“Dad’s study. I guess he thought they’d have some privacy in there, but you can hear their shouting from the other side of the house.”

Virgil switched off his stereo and in the ensuing silence could hear what definitely sounded like a heated altercation. “Where’re Scott and Gordon?”

“In the hall. Gordon’s enjoying the free entertainment and Scott’s trying to decide if he should intervene.”

“Intervene!? I don’t think even he’s brave enough to do that,” Virgil commented, following John out of the room.

As they drew closer to the study the angry voices became clearer. “What were you thinking, Alan!?”

“I was thinking that the sunflowers are going to be flowering early this year! What do you think I was thinking? I was thinking of the best way to ensure that I was going to win that race! And I did it!”

“At what cost, Alan? You endangered Victor Gomez’s life! Not to mention your own!” The dreaded Kansas accent had not only crept back into Jeff’s voice, it had overpowered it.

“I knew what I was doing!”

“Did you? Did you stop and think about what danger you were in? You could have been killed!”

“It may have escaped your notice, Dad, but I was nearing the end of a race! I didn’t have time to stop and think!”

As John had stated, Scott was hovering just outside the study door and Gordon was slouched against the opposite wall. The latter greeted his two brothers with a cheery grin. “You’re not too late to catch the side show.”

“How long has this been going on?” Virgil whispered.

Scott examined his watch. “They went in about ten minutes ago. They’ve been fired up for at least the last five…”

Alan was still shouting. “I can make my own decisions!”

“You might be able to make your own decisions,” Jeff responded, “but based on what I saw yesterday they’re not always wise ones.”

“What do you think I am? A little kid who has to run to Daddy every time he wants permission to do something? It may have escaped your notice but I’m an adult! I have a mind of my own!”

“Yes, you do have a mind of your own. But I have my doubts that you have the maturity to use it!”

“Maturity? I’m older than Scott was when he left home! I’m older than Gordon was when he joined WASP! I’m older than…”

“Older does not equate to being more mature! Maturity means the ability to see the consequences before you do something and act accordingly.”

An angry laugh. “This from a man who still lives with his mother!”

Alan’s brothers’ cringed when they heard that accusation and Virgil glanced at his grandmother who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, listening as intently as her grandsons.

“Alan!”

“Can’t you take the truth?” Alan snarled at his father. “I’m not a little kid any more.”

“Then stop behaving like one! I’m telling you now, Alan. If you don’t modify your behaviour on the track I’m going to have to talk to Karl Richards and tell him to get another driver.”

Karl Richards was Team Tracy’s manager and the man who had the ultimate say in the running of the organisation. The threat clearly rocked Alan. “You’d stop me? I’ve finally found something that I’m good at and you’re going to stop me from doing it?”

John groaned. “This has a familiar ring to it.”

“Yes. If necessary I would,” Jeff continued. “When it comes down your safety and the safety of others I’ll do anything.”

“But there was nothing wrong with what I did!”

“It was dangerous!”

“It was legal!”

“It was stupid and it was immature!”

“Immature!? They don’t hand over the controls of a 1000hp car to any kid. You’ve got to have the talent and the experience…”

“Or a father that controls the team’s purse strings! Do you honestly believe that any team at that level would give a man of your age a chance if they didn’t think they could get what they could out of me?”

“Do you know what I think!? I think that you can’t handle it that I’m able to make it in the world without your assistance.”

“If it wasn’t for my sponsoring Team Tracy, it wouldn’t be in existence!”

“Then I’d get a ride with another team! I’m good! I’m the best! I’ve proved myself! I’m second in the rankings and going higher; and that’s through my driving, not your money! Any team would want me!”

“After yesterday Victor Gomez’s team wouldn’t!”

“Victor Gomez is a has-been!”

“Victor Gomez has more experience than you! I am not going to let you risk your life, Alan!”

There was a bitter laugh. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you! It’s all right when you’re going to be the one who’s going to be telling us to go out into fires and floods and meteor showers, while you sit back on your island paradise in complete safety...”

“That is different!”

“The difference is that when I’m in my car I’m the one who is in control, not you or your clone, and your ego can’t stand that fact…”

Scott stared at the closed door. “Clone?”

“That’s why you started International Rescue, isn’t it? So that you can feel self important without actually being in any danger yourself? International Rescue is just a giant ego-trip for the great Jefferson Tracy! You don’t care that it’s going to be your own kids you’re going to be sending into danger!”

“Alan…” Jeff’s voice was quiet now and those in the hallway stepped closer to the door, straining to hear what was being said. “In light of your actions yesterday and your attitude now, I’m going to have to seriously reconsider your place in International Rescue.”

“Fine!” Alan wasn’t using the same vocal restraint. “That suits me just fine. All my life you’ve told me what to do. You made me become an astronaut! You decided that I was going to be stuck up in Thunderbird Five for months on end! You told me that I wasn’t to give interviews. You told me that I wasn’t to have my photo taken. You told me that I’ve got to wear that stupid helmet to the car so that no one will be able to recognise me as Alan Tracy! And now you’re trying to tell me how to do what I do best! Something I might add, which you know nothing about!”

“I’ve always let you boys make your own decisions.”

“Then let me make this one! This is my life and I’m going to do what I want with it…! If you don’t want me to be part of International Rescue, then great! I’m going to live my life without your interference! I quit…!”

The audience in the hall shifted uneasily.

“I’m past the age of consent and I can do what I like! I don’t need you and I don’t need them! I’d be better off without you all! And if Team Tracy decides that it doesn’t need me then I’ll simply find another team!”

There was a quiet, “think about what you’re saying, Alan.”

“There you go, telling me what to do again. Well, that’s the last time you’re going to do that. As of this moment you no longer have any control over me! You are no longer my father! I’m outta here! And I hope I never see you again!”

“Alan…”

The door was slammed open and the red-faced blonde stormed out of the study, crashing through the eavesdroppers as if they weren’t there. In the hasty scramble to get clear, Grandma was pushed over, falling against Virgil who managed to catch her before she landed on the ground.

“Alan!” Scott admonished. “Be careful.”

Alan didn’t break his stride.

“Alan!”

Alan stopped and turned back. “What, Scott? Did the baby ignore you?” he taunted. “Well get used to it! Because I’m not going to be around to push about any more.”

“Alan! Stop and think for a moment…” Scott pleaded. “He’s only looking out for you…”

“Man, you sound just like him!” Alan sneered, pointing an accusing finger in the direction of the study. “The only difference is that you’re younger and that he managed to avoid being shot down when he was in the Air Force. Another thing that you have in common is that I don’t need either of you. Well, so long, ‘Junior’,” he flapped an ironic salute, “because you’re not going to be ordering me about again!” He slammed his way into his room and shut the door behind him.

Virgil glanced at Scott, who looked almost devastated, and then he turned his attention to the study door. It was shut and there was no sign of their father.

There was an amused tutting sound. “You’ve got no idea how to deal with him, Scott.” Gordon pushed himself off the wall. “Let me talk to him.”

“Sure, Gordon,” Scott sighed. “Maybe you’ll have more luck.”

Gordon tapped lightly on the door. “Alan? It’s me, Gor…” The door burst open and Alan, holding a case like a battering ram, charged through. He said nothing to his startled family and headed outside with Gordon on his tail.

Virgil looked at John before, without a word, they followed their two youngest brethren, leaving Scott to care for their grandmother, or vice versa.

They stopped under the cover of the front porch so they could observe without being seen.

Gordon was trying unsuccessfully to talk Alan around. “Look, you’re all overreacting. Go for a drive for a couple of hours and both you and he will have forgotten about it by the time you get back.”

Alan stared at him as if he were mad. “Do you think a ‘couple of hours’ is all that’s needed to resolve this? You can’t resolve twenty years worth of oppression in ‘a couple of hours’.”

“Oppression?” Gordon gave a laugh that didn’t quite ring true. “Go and have your drive, calm down, and we’ll talk after you get back.”

Alan stared him in the eye. “I’m not ‘getting back’, Gordon. This is the last time you’ll see me.” He threw his case into the boot of the car. “Except for in the news: on top of the podium.”

Now Gordon showed some signs of genuine alarm. “You don’t mean that, Alan.”

Alan snorted. “See! Even you try to tell me what I’m thinking.” He strode around to the driver’s side of the car; Gordon hot on his heels. Alan pulled at the door and realised that it was being held shut. “Let me go, Gordon!”

“No! Let’s talk.”

“I’m warning you!”

“Just give me ten minutes!”

“Ten minutes?! You’ve had my whole life to talk. You don’t care. You only care about yourself!”

“That’s not true.”

“Not true? Face it, Gordon, you can’t bear the idea that someone else in this family may be able to make a name for himself on the world stage!”

“No…”

“And now that I’m this close,” Alan held his two fingers so they were only inches away from Gordon’s nose, “you are trying to stop me!”

“I wouldn’t do that. Just talk to me, Alan.”

“Like I’d take the advice of a has-been swimmer who’s had his day in the sun…”

Gordon looked he’d been slapped. “Has-been?”

“You go around telling people how great you are; how privileged they are to are to be in your presence; but in reality you’re a nothing, Gordon. Just some flashy guy living in the past; expecting everyone to be in awe of something that you did so long ago that most people can’t even remember what it was! Gordon Tracy? Who’s he? Isn’t he one of Jeff Tracy’s sons? Well, I’m not going to be just ‘one of Jeff Tracy’s sons’. I’m going to be a name in my own right! I’m going to be known as Alan Tracy…!”

“Has-been?” Gordon repeated, still stunned.

Caught up in his rant, Alan ignored his brother’s hurt expression. “It’s a pity it’s too late to change my name.” He tried to open the car door.

“But, but…” Gordon spluttered and then pulled himself together. “But what about our plans?”

“Plans?”

“Yes… You know…” Gordon looked about them furtively. “‘Plans!’” he hissed.

“If you’re talking about International Rescue, I don’t care. Besides I don't know why you're worried about his great plan anyway! It's not like he’s going to let you be part of it...”

This rocked Gordon even more than the ‘has-been’ comment. “What...?”

“Face it, Gordon. You're not a team player. They don't want anyone like you. They need someone they can trust!”

“They don’t trust me?”

“Yeah. They don’t trust you. HE…” Alan pointed in the direction of an upstairs room, “doesn’t trust you. And you know what else, Gordon? I don’t care that he doesn’t trust you. Just like I don’t care about him or any of them…” he indicated the house.

“You don’t…”

“… And – I – don’t – care – about – you!” Alan punctuated each word by stabbing Gordon in the chest with his finger; before finally pushing his brother hard, forcing Gordon to take two steps backwards. Taking advantage of the distraction, Alan jumped into his car. “I hope I never see you again!”

“Alan!”

There was the roar of an engine, the squeal of tyres, and the pitter-patter of falling pebbles that had been kicked up by spinning wheels.

“Alan…!” Despite knowing how useless his chase would be, Gordon ran after the car.

But Alan was gone, leaving his elder brother standing forlornly in the middle of a deserted driveway.

John and Virgil stepped out of their hiding place and walked over to where Gordon still watched the dust cloud disappearing down the road.

Virgil looked back to the house, glancing up to the window that opened into his father’s study. Jeff Tracy was standing there, following his departing son’s progress and talking on his mobile phone.

Gordon barely reacted when John placed an arm about his shoulders. “Gordon?”

“He’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

“Yes.”

“He says he’s gone for good.”

“Yes.” The blonde sighed. “Welcome home, John,” he said. 

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