Reasons

Jan Carroll

Copyright © 2021 by Jan Carroll

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

1. Too Late

2. The Trip

3. Idiots Abroad

4. Really!

5. The What?

6. Three Months In The Sun

7. How do you do!

8. Falling

9. How, When?

10. The parental plan

11. Ship Ahoi!

12. Boring Balwyn

13. Beautiful Sydney

14. Beginning Again

15. Once more into the?

16. An unlikely hero

17. Escalation

18. The last time

Afterword

Also by Jan Carroll

Too Late

“He’s black!” he said, sounding outraged. Oh whaaat?! Black, you say? Well, well, well – that would explain a lot. Black? Gee, you know I knew there was something – I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Ha ha. Black? Well that would explain all those funny looks. And they look quite angry too. And they’re angry with me apparently, not him.

Black? I should know that look, because now that you mention it I remember giving girls that look. Such disapproving looks too, ‘I know why you’re with him, hmph. Trollope. Tramp. Trash. So is it true what they say about black men? Smirk, smirk. White trash.’ So that’s me now, is it?

But now you want to talk to me, Daddy, just to tell me that the man I am apparently in love with is black. How old am I? Where were you before? Not anywhere near me for all those years, that’s for sure. And then when you did appear there was no communication, so how dare you want to talk to me now. You know what? It’s too late.

Anyway, I don’t see him as a colour. To me he’s just a man – well more than that. He’s a beautiful big man and when I look out the window and see him standing on the footpath in his gorgeous camel coloured cashmere coat, waiting to cross the street to me, I see him look up and smile and my heart goes B-doing and I smile back and wait for him to lope up the stairs and hold out his arms so that I can just walk in and feel those beautiful arms fold about me. Black arms apparently. But hey, thank you for pointing that out, Daddy – good to know. Is that all you see? And why can’t I see it? Is it odd that I can’t see that or natural? And anyway I hate to be picky, but he’s more a dark brown actually. There was a time when I would have said ‘nigger brown’, but not anymore because I know the different connotations of that word and how it’s been used to hurt. But he could say it and he tells funny jokes about it, and I can too because I love him. Yes, he’s a lovely warm, rich dark chocolate brown. But before that ‘nigger brown’ to me just meant the most glorious brown there could be, lustrous and vibrant and much more than boring old ‘dark brown’. And furthermore, his skin is like satin – or is it silk – silky satin and wonderful to touch – not like my boring, annoying white skin.

“You’ll never be able to go anywhere. You’ll never be accepted by society.” Oh tragedy – like I accept society and sooo need to be accepted by society. “Your mother and I - - “

Whoops, careful. That’s not very safe territory, is it? “Your mother” is a raging alcoholic. But we can hide that – or think we can. But a black man? Christ, they’re so obvious. They’re so – black. Can’t hide that.

Is there anything else you want to say, Daddy? How did it happen? No idea myself, really. I mean, there I was just minding my own business, living and working in London for a great music arranger and having singing lessons – for free, already.

“Miss Carroll”, said my boss, “I’m renting out the next door office and a few people are interested.”

“Yes.”

“The first person who wants it is a black man, Mr Robinson.”

“Oh well then he should get it – if you’re OK with that.”

“Yes, I’m OK with it. I just wanted to see if you were.”

“Yes, sure. First in, first served. If Mr Robinson is OK with you, he’s OK with me.” I said blithely.

And that was how Danny came into my life and started a chain of events I could never have imagined.

The Trip

I never expected to be in London, yet here I was. When my mother said she and Daddy were going on a trip overseas and would I like to come, I nearly laughed out loud. They were going on a trip together, whaaat? She was booking tickets on the Fairstar and wanted my answer by the end of the week. Surely I was too old to be travelling overseas with my mother and father? I was in my 20s now. But the idea of going away started to appeal to me. Perhaps it was the answer to the mess I was in. Oh that’s right, Jan, run away. That’ll fix things. Well it could. After all I’m part of the problem, so if I’m removed then there’s no problem. You’ll still be in love. But he won’t have to do anything about it and I won’t have broken up a marriage – another marriage. Yes, my fault. Was it? Why do married men have affairs?

I didn’t know about affairs when I met Stan, and then 5 years later, Riley said he was separated. Why me? I didn’t walk into their life. They walked in to mine. And it all ended disastrously thanks to me. I should have been in the wrecking business. So the last few bricks to fall would be if I removed myself from the equation. Jan + Stan = trouble. Jan + Riley = double trouble. Trouble minus Jan, everyone can get back to being married.

So the next time my mother rang I said Yes I would love to go on an overseas trip with them. My mother then told me it was to be a round the world trip. Marvellous. Stan then asked her how long I would be away.

“Six months?!” he exclaimed. “That’s a promise is it, Mrs. Carroll? Jan will be back in six months? I can handle that.” Six months? I wasn’t expecting that.

“OK, I can handle six months, sweetheart, and when you get back we’ll get married. As soon as you get back. We’ve waited so long – another six months is OK.”

“Is it?” I still loved Riley, but then I had put an end to that, so marrying Stan would probably sort me out – did I need sorting out? Well apparently I have broken up Stan’s marriage, and he has left and moved to Sydney with a new job and everything. So yes, I need to be sorted out.

I had been used to catching planes at the last minute – like my mother – and it never occurred to me that ships were any different and had to wait for tides and stuff. Stan and I arrived at the overseas terminal at Circular Quay, and walked towards the gangway. I was about to put my foot on the first step when it gave a shudder, and there was a shout from somewhere or other, and then a couple of officers looking marvellous in their white uniforms appeared at the top of the steps. The gangway steadied and they motioned for me to walk up. I walked up with Stan, and by the time we got to the top there were more officers standing waiting, as I handed over my passport.

“Aaah Miss Carroll” one of them said, “we wondered where you were.”

“Oh really. It just says 3 pm and I thought …”

“Yes of course Miss Carroll.”

“So here I am.”

Laughter all round, no doubt laughing at such a stupid girl!

“Yes Miss Carroll, here you are.”

“I’m terribly sorry. Did I, have I …?”

“No no Miss Carroll. Welcome aboard. We will do everything we can to make sure you have a wonderful trip.”

“Thank you, and you and you and …”

The Purser stepped forward with my passport.

“Follow me, Miss Carroll.” So off I went to his office to complete formalities, and then he gave me the key and instructions to my cabin. My parents were not boarding till Brisbane, so Stan and I then went to the cabin on the boat deck. It was lovely and full of flowers – from Stan.

“Just remember, Janny, I love you.”

“Yes.”

“And you love me.” I smiled. “Yes.” I had no trouble saying that, because I did love him. I was just in love with Riley.

“And you’ll be back in my arms in six months.”

“Yes.”

He knew we didn’t have much time and it was just as well because we didn’t want this to be drawn out. He took me in his arms and held me. Then he turned and walked out the door – still an officer and a gentleman.

I sat on one of the bunks for a while before I went out on deck and searched for him in the waving crowd. I soon realised he would not have waited there. People were yelling and there were streamers all over the place and as the ship pulled away they broke, one after the other. I wasn’t sure how I felt as I watched the streamers stretch as far as they could before snapping and then falling and trailing in the water. Was it sadness? But why, I was on a round the world trip – but all the streamers were breaking – were all the connections breaking? No. I didn’t want that. I waited on deck and watched Sydney slowly slide past, until we had gone through the heads. Would I be seasick soon? Apparently not. I soon discovered that I never felt sick in the cabin or outside on the boat deck, but only if I went inside and down the stairs or the lift – whooo.

My parents boarded in Brisbane and then it was off to see the world. My mother had booked the two of us in a four berth cabin and apparently my father was somewhere else. He had always been “somewhere else”, so I didn’t bother asking where, until half way through the trip.

“Why isn’t Daddy in the cabin with us? After all, it is a 4 berth cabin.”

“Oh Jan! Can you imagine …” She left the question hanging in the air. Actually no, I couldn’t. So she was right. He hadn’t been a fixture in our lives and so here we were, and there he was. Satisfaction all round. My father dutifully appeared every evening outside the restaurant to escort my mother and I in for dinner. Such a weird situation, but I accepted it without qualm. This was a family of separates apparently, and as long as we didn’t intrude on the others territory we could all get along. Nothing of importance was ever discussed, so I was not aware of anything of importance that ever happened to us. The only thing of importance to me was that I not be anywhere in the vicinity of my mother if she had one too many glasses of Whisky or cocktails or alcohol of any description. But so far on this ship she had not, and seemed to actually be enjoying life. And why not? She had plenty to do if she wanted and loved getting dressed for dinner and walking in to a room full of people – she could still turn heads. But not my father’s. He had seen a different person all too often. So my mother could appear first and enjoy her favourite cocktail – one - and then I would swan in and my father would arrive just in time to escort us in to dinner, giving every appearance of the happy family.

I eventually did decide to investigate my father’s whereabouts one afternoon and discovered that I had to go inside and down the stairs or the lift. I chose the lift and when I got out I had to walk towards the front – the bow. I hadn’t noticed much movement of the ship before, but now I discovered I had to hang on to the railing as the ship lurched up before smashing down again into the trough, with an added roll from side to side for good measure. What on earth is he doing down here, I wondered. And then – at last - Why is he down here? Whose idea was this? Then it was run, run, run up and then wham, slither, slide downhill till I arrived at the pointy end and outside his cabin door.

“Bub!” he exclaimed as he opened the door.”

“God, Pop, what on earth are you doing down here? Whoops.”

“Yes, hang on.” We gingerly made our way to his bunk and sat down hurriedly.

“God Daddy, this is ridiculous.”

“No, I love it, bub, it’s great.”

“But Pop, you can’t stand up!”

“I’m sharing with the Chaplain.”

“Oh well, I can see you’ll have the Bible to talk about, but how do you sleep or move about with this ..” as the ship heaved itself up again. “And how do you shave?”

“With difficulty” he laughed, “but I’ve got plenty of time.”

“And you can have the last rites, if necessary, I suppose.” We laughed. And there would be lots of discussion about the Bible – perhaps Daddy should have been a priest. We chatted on a bit longer while I clutched onto the bunk bed and then we lapsed into silence and it was time for me to go.

“See you for dinner, Bub.”

“OK Pop, that’s if I make it back up on deck. See you then.” So clearly he was happy with his situation, so satisfaction all round. Some time later the Chaplain made a point of asking me if I wanted to go to confession. No I did not. He then told me that he heard the Confessions of all the crew.

“The Officers too, Jan.” I looked at him.

“Oh well, I suppose that was interesting.”

“It was, my dear, you would have been very interested.” What did he mean by that? He was too sly for me and I made sure I avoided him in future.

I was sound asleep one morning and was woken by a hand stroking my hair and lips brushing my cheek.

“Mmmm who – aagh, you! What are you – how did you …?”

“But Jan darling, I am the Purser. I can …

“Well you shouldn’t just – I was asleep …

“Si so beaut …”

“No, no. Not. You have to leave now – yes, now. I’m not wearing – I’m …

“Si, not.”

“You have to go now, now, because I would like to get up.” He left at last, but not until I had promised to come and see him later.

Showered and dressed I made my way out on deck to the café for my morning coffee and a beautiful piece of cake which had just been baked. Yummeee. My Mother was sunbaking beside the pool. She was so lucky because she had beautiful fair skin, but she could still get a tan. I couldn’t sit in the sun for any length of time without burning to a crisp.

“Good morning, darling.”

“Good morning, Mummy.”

“Sleep well?”

“Yes, but someone woke me up though.”

“Yes, he was looking for you, so I told him where you were.”

“You shouldn’t have done that. I was asleep, and you know I don’t wear any…”

“Oh well …” she said.

“No, not Oh well. He shouldn’t ..” But she wasn’t listening and had rolled over to bake the other side.

I eventually met some of the other girls on board, and then the Entertainments Officer introduced himself and corralled us into becoming performers in some show he had planned. We were all pretty enthusiastic and found ourselves being allocated parts which he had picked out.

One evening during dinner he asked me to dance and the musicians started playing a beautiful Latin number. I thought everyone was going to dance, but when I got up he just led me to the centre of the floor and then announced that I was going to dance. What? How? Who did this? I was too embarrassed to move for a while, but then the lights went out so there was just the music and me and all the people had disappeared, just little candles flickering away, so I slowly started to sway – after all who could keep still to Latin? The music seemed to go on for ages and so I danced along with it, but eventually after what seemed an eternity I arrived back at my seat and stopped and the music stopped too.

“God, I thought they’d never stop.” I said as I sat down.

“Neither did we!” said my mother.

“Well I was waiting for them, I mean it’s only three minutes or whatever and” “They were waiting for you.”

“Really? Well I won’t be doing that again. And anyway who told him?”

She didn’t reply to that, but my parents were the only ones who knew that when living at home, as soon as there was a beautiful piece of music I would be up dancing to it, all around the place by myself. A couple of nights later he came to ask me to dance again,

“The people they like it. Can you dance for them again?”

“Oh God no, I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t do it again.”

“But it’s easy for you – just to dance, yes?”

“To dance, yes, but not in front of people!”

The next thing he had planned was the crossing of the equator parade. He certainly took his job seriously – mustn’t let the passengers get bored. King Neptune was some random older man and I was Queen Neptune. I thought the girl who was Miss Queensland would have made a much better Queen Neptune, because she was gorgeous and had a lovely tan. I was just like a long glass of milk. Anyway she loaned me her black swimsuit. I had a beautiful black halter neck swimsuit, but hadn’t worn it yet as it would need to be a hot day in hell before I went anywhere near a swimming pool. The equator nearly made the cut, but it was Singapore before I put it on.

Like Cecil B. de Mille he had something bigger in mind, and we were all assembled in the costume room and he allocated different roles and outfits around and we rehearsed for the big night. One girl who was to be up on a pillar – there were lots of girls on pillars – Rome of course - had the most spectacular legs and so she was the winged goddess of somewhere or other. Miss Queensland was to parade around in her swimsuit, and I was to wear what looked like a former white curtain or bedspread made into a strapless evening gown. He led me off the stage and down the stairs and then around the room with our arms up in the air. I didn’t know whether I was being offered up as the vestal virgin or what, which meant someone was in for a surprise, but none of us questioned him because we could all see he was so enthusiastic and we were having fun, and if I was making an idiot of myself, it wouldn’t be the last time! The trip lasted 3 weeks, so we were quite ready to join any activity to pass the time.

The ship called in to what used to be Ceylon and then Aden where we got off and took a bus up to Cairo with a stop at the Pyramids – totally fascinating and luckily it was long before all the development pressed up so close to them. I wore a full skirt because it was so hot, and I had no intention of riding a donkey or camel or any other creature, but while I was arguing with a camel driver about this, he somehow whisked me up and on to the camel with my skirt billowing out in the air like a damn parachute. I was furious, but it made no difference. I was up and he was down. So I did ride a camel to the pyramids.

Before we passed through Port Said the ship was put on high alert and we waited until eventually a speedboat arrived alongside and a man in uniform clambered up the rope ladder which had been thrown over for him. It was now Egypt’s turn to fight for liberation apparently, and he was the last British Officer to make it out, and we were the last ship through before the Canal was closed.

Then it was on to Naples where we visited Pompeii. Everything on this trip was a learning experience and we were lucky to be doing it before the world was swamped with tourists at every place of interest. While we were wandering around Pompeii my mother was almost whisked away by some smooth Italian man. Probably made her day, and she certainly seemed to be glowing. Good on her. In the evening we took a buggy ride around Naples which was sublime. Italian men were certainly not backward and, in spite of sticking close to my parents for once, they showed no hesitation in advancing. Leaving the ship in Southampton was rather sad, but as we had to board the train to London there was hardly any time for good-byes, and anyway most of them had been said the night before.

Idiots Abroad

We arrived in London in June and thankfully the weather was gorgeous so we could investigate all the usual tourist spots in London, and then hired a car and started to drive around England and Scotland. We were about as far north as you can go in Inverness when my mother said casually,

“Well we’ve got 150 pounds left.” I was driving and waited for my father to say something. He didn’t so I said

“Oh well, when we get back to London …”

“No”, she went on, “there isn’t any more. That’s it.”

I stopped the car.

“What do you mean, that’s it? You have to send for a transfer from …?”

“No, that’s all we’ve got left in the world!”

“In the world? Entirely, that’s it? Daddy, what …” No answer from him.

“But that can’t be right. How can you go for a trip around the world with 150 pounds? Isn’t that what you said? I mean, I don’t mind, but what is happening? How do we ...?”

“Well, I only paid a deposit on the next leg, so perhaps I can get that back.”

“God Almighty, I don’t believe this. Only the deposit, but but …” I spluttered away, “I wouldn’t have come if – you should have told me.” God, what about Stan?

I should have been used to things going wrong, but clearly I had been living away from home for too long. For such an undertaking I had expected my father to have some input – like funds! My father still hadn’t said a word, so as usual my mother and I just continued without him.

“So we have to stop mucking around and get back to London and what?” “Get jobs,” said my mother.

“And get the money for the cancellation, right?”

“Right.”

“All of us?”

“All of us.”

So my father had left all these arrangements up to my mother. It never occurred to me that he would be so careless after all he had been through. And so here we were, three adults thousands of miles from home and with 150 pounds between us.

We continued south making our way back to London as if being stranded in England was just a small hiccup and absolutely nothing to worry about. Three idiots abroad! We visited many ruined Cathedrals which had once been magnificent Catholic churches, and my father’s old school, Winchester. I realised for the first time what devastation had been caused by Henry VIII when he broke with the Pope and Catholicism in order to divorce his Queen and marry Anne Boleyn. I had always failed to understand why the English were so anti-Catholic. After all at least Catholics could claim their founder as Jesus Christ, even if they had some lousy Popes. But Anglicans had Henry VIII who caused all that death and destruction just to get what he wanted, and then kept everything Catholic, except calling themselves Protestants, while carrying on as if they were the bastions of moral rectitude, and spreading hatred of Catholics, and the Irish in particular. No Love thy neighbour there.

However our situation demanded that when we got back to London all that was forgotten. It was amazing how far 150 pounds could go in the 60s. I really hadn’t wanted to come to England and was only waiting for the time when we got to America, so if we had to work to that end, then that is what we would do. Fortunately this was London in the 60s and we all got jobs. My father was tickled pink to be the manager of some flea pit theatre in West London, where he was the only employee and so had to change the light bulbs as well. He was just thrilled to be back in England where he had gone to boarding school, and involved with film again. He loved everything old and during our drive back to London we had traipsed through many old buildings and up and down many staircases in many towers. Oxford actually made him smile, but I could certainly see why. Everything about it was magnificent. My mother was employed at Fortnum and Mason in the fashion department and I found a job with 4 barristers in The Temple.

We had no idea how long this was going to continue, but my parents seemed to be enjoying their life at last and were renting a bed-sit in a private hotel which only had a gas ring into which they had to put money if they wanted heat. Nothing like the lifestyle they had in Australia.

A couple of girls from the ship were sharing a cute house just off Church Street in Kensington. I was invited for dinner one evening and met the other two girls. It later turned out that one of them was leaving and so I was asked if I wanted to share a bedroom with another Australian girl. Yes to that. We all managed to get along, but it was the Aussies who monopolised the bathroom in the mornings. The only English girl there had a bath once a week, but not on a regular basis. We all took to saying Super – that was our adjective for everything. As Christmas rolled closer we started talking about what to do for lunch. I wanted a beautiful lamb lunch. We existed mainly on sausages and toast, but Christmas might require a bit more adventure. My mother came to the rescue by declaring she would do the cooking and it would be Nasi Goreng. Hmm, I was vaguely aware of that, having had it once, and I knew an egg sat on top of – something. But the other girls were mystified. My mother said she would buy all the ingredients and do the whole thing. Well that would be very acceptable, of course. My mother was a beautiful cook – when she cooked. I was vaguely apprehensive, knowing all the Christmases at home which always degenerated into a wildly embarrassing affair, and a week of drunken name-calling which took us up to New Year, which also had to be celebrated. But ever the optimists my father and I would wish each other a Happy New Year. I can’t recall ever wishing each other a Happy Christmas. We knew how that would go – and my birthday - so nothing as futile. But the New Year offered hope, didn’t it? That was as long as her body was prepared to take the alcohol assault before it decided, Enough. She then became well acquainted with the toilet bowl. My father and I would smile quietly at each other as we heard the noises emanating from the bathroom. Ah, here she comes, on her way back. Alleluia. We were so relieved that we never said a word to her about the last two weeks. But that was then. Things were different now in England, weren’t they, and she was OK. Wasn’t she? Georgina – the English girl – was going to her parents for Christmas, so it would be an all-Aussie Christmas. Except for the food!

My parents arrived and bought some champagne to celebrate. We all enjoyed a glass and then my mother went to the kitchen to check out the ingredients, but returned to the lounge for another Champagne and sat down for a while as we all cheerfully kept wishing each other Merry Christmas. The second bottle of Champagne soon joined the first and more alcohol was discovered, and around about then we started encouraging my mother to start the Christmas lunch. We would help. She showed no inclination to move from her chair. Beverley went into the kitchen with me and we looked at all the food.

“God Jan, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know – is it going to be spaghetti Bolognese? Oh no, it’s rump steak! God, Beverley, this is awful. I’ll just try again.”

“Mummy, you said … I think it’s time to start the …”

“I want a drink.” She said.

So here we were again. I thought this had ended. Idiot. I appealed to my father, “Daddy, can you ..?”

“Get me a drink.” My mother demanded. “I wanna drink. Get me a drink.” She yelled now. My father got up and gave a heavy sigh.

“Bloody hell, there’s no point sighing. Get her in to the kitchen and …”

“I wanna drink, I wanna drink …” she kept screaming. So Daddy gave her a drink.

The kitchen was in chaos now as the other girls gathered in the small kitchen and got as far as turning on the stove – none of us could cook to save our souls “Daddy, you have to get her out of here. Get her out, take her home.” He just sat there, waiting for her next demand. I was so embarrassed I didn’t know what to do except apologise again and again. It was Christmas Day for heaven’s sake! Beverley was in tears and there was nothing I could do to help the situation. I made one last appeal to my father to take my mother away, and I was yelling now. There was no way I could resolve this, because the girls did not want to be rude to my parents in front of me, so I finally figured out that if my parents wouldn’t leave, then I would. So I left. I could still hear her yelling for a drink as I walked out the front gate.

I walked down Church Street. It was snowing softly as I got to High Street. What now, madam? Well I don’t know. What do people do on Christmas Day? Well I suppose most people are at home and there’s a Christmas tree with presents, and all that crap. God Almighty, Nasi Goreng! That should have set off alarm bells. And with rump steak – must have cost a fortune. Well it’s been a while. But my memories of Christmas are actually pretty much like this – everything going to hell. So where do I usually go then? To the pictures! Oh and look there is a queue outside the cinema.

I can’t remember what the film was, but I think it was Zulu. When I came out I still had no intention of going back to the house just in case there was blood on the floor and the police were there. There might have been if I hadn’t left! So I found a nice warm café on the corner and sat with my coffee watching the occasional car through the big glass window as cars swished along the deserted High Street in the rain. A little red Austin Healy drove past, and a short time later I heard its high-pitched squeal as it backed up and parked. Somebody came in to the café and walked up to my table.

“Hullo, may I sit here?” he asked.

The place was deserted and just about to close, so I shrugged. He took that as a nod and sat down.

“I noticed you as I was passing. What are you doing here at this time on Christmas Day?” I shrugged again and smiled,

“It’s better than where I was.”

“Oh.” I didn’t elaborate any further. Talking about it never helped and wouldn’t change a thing. We continued making small talk for a while.

“Is it still Christmas Day?” I said, looking at my watch.

“Yes. Maybe things will improve.” he said.

“Do you think so?” We exchanged names then.

“Do you want to spend Christmas with me, Jan? I don’t do anything special – we don’t really celebrate ..”

“Thank you Irban, nothing special would be lovely.”

“You can drive, Jan.”

“Oh terrific” I said as I got behind the wheel.

It was still raining, and I had never driven a sports car in the wet. I was going quite fast around Park Lane, and was taking a curve which was sharper than I expected, so I braked – the car spun around in a circle and finished up in a different lane pointing the wrong way.

‘God, I’m so sorry. My mistake. Do you want to drive?”

‘No Jan. Just lucky there wasn’t any other traffic.”

‘Yes, I shouldn’t have braked.” He just shrugged and smiled. He was certainly one cool customer. Just what the doctor ordered. He could have been a mass murderer for all I knew. I was once again in my very own cool and careless territory which I always retreated to during my mother’s ‘events’.

Irban lived in a beautiful apartment.

“Would you like to try on some of the kaftans I brought back?” he asked as he got some of them out of the wardrobe and put them across the double bed. I didn’t ask from where.

“Oh yes, aren’t they gorgeous. Oh look at this one.”

“Put it on.”

So I spent the next hour prancing around in different gorgeous kaftans in his bedroom being carried further and further away from Church Street, Kensington.

“Are you a model?” \

‘No.”

“You should be.”

“Well I was for a while, but it just seems a stupid thing to do, parading backwards and forwards and ..”

“You can make good money.”

“But there are so many other things you can do - you know (as I swivelled around) - which would be more interesting, I think.”

He made some wonderful Turkish coffee with Turkish Delight as well.

“Oh is this real Turkish Delight?”

“Yes of course.”

“Delicious! So that’s what it is supposed to taste like.”

“Ah, it’s so nice to see you smile. Are you happy now?”

“If I don’t think outside this room, yes.”

“I hope you are enjoying your Christmas, Jan.”

“I am, absolutely. Thank you so much. Merry Christmas or whatever you say too.”

He kissed me softly. Eventually we fell into his sumptuous big bed. He was sweet and considerate, and determined that I should think he was the best lover in the world!

On the third day I rang Beverley.

“Oh God Jan, where are you? We’ve been worried sick.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure where I am, but I’m OK. Where am I?” I asked Irban.

“Mayfair.”

“I’m in a beautiful apartment somewhere in Mayfair with a very nice person.”

“Gee Jan, did he just pick you up?”

“I suppose he did.”

“You should be more careful.”

“I should be, but sometimes it’s difficult.”

“Oh Janny. Anyway are you coming home?”

“Well if my mother’s not there.”

“Oh no, we got rid of – I mean no, she’s gone.”

“Thank God. I’ll be back this arvo, if that’s OK.”

“Of course it is, can’t wait to hear ..”

“Ha ha, OK. See you then. Thanks Beverley.”

“Your friends were worried then?” he asked.

“Apparently, yes. My parents, no.”

“But you don’t know ..”

“Oh I think I know by now whether they worry or not. I’ve had a lot of experience – different experiences.” I wasn’t about to elaborate on that.

“Some people aren’t good at showing emotions