As soon as the coast was clear, Ashleigh took Peter's case and ushered him into her car.

      "You know," she said as they set off, "if your little red sports car had been parked there, it would have given you away at once.  According to Julie, that chap with the other Volvo is your ex-wife's latest boy-friend, James.  Have you met him?"

      "Yes, the creep.  He's twenty-five, works as a junior clerk, and has parents with more money than they can handle."

      "Well, Julie reckons they've both become extra cosy all of a sudden, though maybe the car's more the attraction than its owner.  And if they keep turning up here unannounced, they're bound to spot you sooner or later, so we'd better get down to swapping homes.  That'll mean hiring a van because there's a load of stuff to be shifted each way."

      "Mostly yours," declared Peter.  "You'd better decide how much of your aunt's furniture you want to keep, because I doubt if you've got enough room in the oast-house."

      "You may be sure I'll take as little as possible," Ashleigh announced.  "I want to make a clean break from Aunt Elsie and move into a completely fresh environment, which is why the oast-house would have been ideal."

      "It happens to be ideal for me too, and if it weren't for my damned finances I'd stay put.  Oh, it makes me sick, all this legal palaver - paying solicitors to help you buy property, paying them to obtain exorbitant settlements from broken marriages, paying them again to sort out your affairs when you die.  I should have taken up law when I left school instead of loafing around trying to sell cars."

      "Why didn't you?"

      "You're forgetting baby Julie.  I desperately needed an income then, far more than I needed further education."

      "That's the very thing my aunt said to me.  If she hadn't been so miserly, I might have gone to university and become a graduate with twice the salary I'm getting now.  But, Peter, now's your chance to make a clean break and do whatever you want."

      "Same with you."

      "Yes, except I've already got an interesting job and enough money to live on.  You're the one with problems.  Oh, Peter, why did you get yourself in such a mess?  Don't answer that.  If you'd gone for a lot more foreplay and less impetuosity, things might have been very different.  Hey, hang on.  I think maybe we've got trouble."

      In her rear mirror Julie had spotted a blue Volvo coming up the lane behind her, and approaching rapidly.

      "Duck out of sight, quick," she said.  "It seems we have a dragon in hot pursuit of St. George."

      Peter slid down as best he could into the confined space, while Julie made a sudden turn, taking the road that led to the new estate.  The Volvo followed, gaining on them all the time.

      "Where in heck are you taking me?" asked an anxious voice down beside Ashleigh's knees.

      "Don't know yet, but I'll think of something.  Pass me that notepad down by your left side."

      Peter reached into a small recess in the nearside door and handed Ashleigh the notepad.  She deftly tore off a single page.

      "Now," she said, slowing down a little, "let's not get pinched for speeding.  Consider this logically.  If they've already spotted you, you're already as good as done for.  If not, their aim will be to follow me, hoping I'll lead them to your address.  Right now they don't seem too keen on overtaking, so my guess is they haven't seen you, in which case I'm going to pull in here for a few seconds, right outside the post office.  They'll probably stop a little further on, then wait to watch me in the mirror."

      Ashleigh drew into a parking space outside the parade of shops, and leapt nimbly out of the car.  She ran to the pillar box where she posted the plain folded sheet torn from her notebook, then returned to the driving seat, reversed out of the parking area, and headed back the way she'd come.  By the time her pursuers had managed a three-point turn in their Volvo, Ashleigh's mini was well out of sight.

      She drove on past the oast-house, then round along the back road to the church, where she waited a full five minutes.

      "I think," she said at last, "that our friends have given up the chase.  All the same, if you can bear it, I suggest you hide in the back under a rug until we're well clear of Shipley Green."

      Ashleigh got a rug out of the boot and spread it over Peter who now lay curled up on the rear seat.  She was just getting back into the car when a blue Volvo loomed into sight, coming slowly up the hill.  Ashleigh hissed a word of warning to Peter, then stood to give her pursuers a cheery wave as they passed.

      "Lovely day," she called.  "My turn for church flowers."

      The moment they were safely out of sight, Ashleigh got back into the car and headed rapidly for home and safety.

      "My God!" sighed Peter as they eventually reached their destination.  "Please try to remember I've just come out of hospital.  I'm glad you're not a regular ambulance driver.  Ye gods, I never want another trip like that as long as I live."

      "I'm sorry," said Ashleigh, "but we're here now and the only Volvo in these parts has a much more friendly driver.  How's the headache?"

      "Don't ask.  Just find me a fistful of aspirin and be quick about it."

      Ashleigh helped Peter indoors and offered him a large cooked breakfast which he graciously declined.

      "Thanks all the same, but I'll just take the coffee and pain-killers.  I'm not in a fit state for solids right now - in fact," he added, "don't take this as foreplay, but I'd be obliged if you could direct me straight to the nearest bed.  I'm whacked."

      "That's no problem," said Ashleigh.  "You can choose either the spare room, my own bed, or Aunt Elsie's.  Mine's the most comfortable, but if you're planning on a lengthy stay, I suggest we put you in the spare, though I'll need to make it up first - we haven't had a visitor here in over three years.  Somehow friends were never keen to come and stay with Aunt Elsie, I can't imagine why!  I doubt if you'd have lasted long either.  In fact she'd throw a fit at what I'm about to suggest, but you'd better use my bed for now till I've got the other one ready."

      "Ashleigh, love, don't let the late Aunt Elsie keep bugging you.  That part of your life is over.  It may have been grim and a bitter struggle, but you've emerged from the tunnel now into broad daylight.  Look around you, and stop looking back.  There's no-one chasing you any more."

      Ashleigh looked at him in wonder and smiled.

      "Julie was right - you must have made a super Dad."

      "I did my best," he said sadly, "and I like to think I came pretty near to succeeding."

      "According to Julie, you did.  Come on, Daddykins, upstairs with Ashleigh and she'll make you nice and comfy."

      "Whatever my rating in the Daddy stakes, I reckon you'd make a super mother.  And that's not foreplay."

      "Why do you keep on about foreplay?" she asked, pausing half way up the stairs.  "Is it something to do with golf or are there other notions clogging up your one-track mind?"

      "I've got dozens of things on my mind," he said, "you know that - money, a broken marriage, unemployment, money again.  Oh Ashleigh, why am I such a failure?  I mean, how far down the drain can a chap sink?"

      "I don't think you're a failure, Peter.  I see you as someone who's hit several patches of bad luck, that's all.  It's not your fault Sheila's the way she is.  It's not your fault the economy's taking a dive.  It's not your fault that some reckless clown hit your car last night.  I keep meaning to ask - did it happen on the way home, or were you heading back here?"

      "I was on my way home," he said, "but I swear I would have returned if I'd had the chance."

      She helped him into her bedroom.  "You like it here that much?"

      "I like company, Ashleigh, especially company I can talk to.  Do you realise, you and I seem to have no trouble conversing?  Even if we don't always agree, we've generally got something to say to one another.  That's far better to cope with than silence."

      "Well, the talking has to stop for a while, Peter, because I want you to lie down like a good boy and rest.  I'll get the other bed ready.  After that we can talk some more.  Okay?"

      Peter lay back on Ashleigh's bed and reached out his hand to touch her.  "Suddenly," he said, "I'm tongue-tied.  But thanks.  Without you I'd be totally lost."

      Ashleigh bent down and gently kissed him on the forehead.  Then with a self-conscious blush she left him while she attended to various chores, dividing her time between domestic cleaning, office work on her terminal, and keeping a caring eye on her patient.

      "How's the head?" she asked on one of her brief visits.

      "Much better, thanks, nurse.  Can I be useful at all?  I hate just lying here."

      "Okay.  Use that impulsive energy to help me decide what I can do to make this place habitable.  I need to hurl all this Victorian depression out for the dustman without destroying anything of value."

      "If this house were mine," said Peter, "my first job would be to put up fresh wallpaper."

      "Oh, no," she mocked him.  "I've seen your idea of wallpaper."

      "You once saw the purchase of a desperate man who thought he'd found a bargain.  This house doesn't need jazzing up, Ashleigh, it needs something warm and gentle, something light and sunny.  Here, take me to your least favourite room and I'll show you what I mean."

      Peter followed her downstairs to the front room and marched straight over to the portrait above the fireplace.

      "Good morning, Miss Challon," he saluted.  "Pardon the intrusion, but I'm here to propose a few drastic alterations.  My friend Ashleigh and I find this room dull and depressing, and it's not hard to see why.  If you'd be gracious enough to smile just once, we might feel more charitable.  Perhaps you're not as hard-hearted as you look, but I'm afraid that sullen scowl has got to go."

      Ashleigh nodded her full approval, applauding like a cheerleader as Peter lifted down the heavy frame and stood it in the corner with its face to the wall.  He waved a stern finger.

      "And there you stay, my girl, till you learn to be more friendly.  And look what you've done - you've left a tell-tale area that shows just how ghastly this wallpaper really is.  You and I have at least one thing in common, Elsie - we're neither of us dab-hands at choosing wallpaper, so we'll leave that decision to Ashleigh.  Meanwhile, I recommend we wash the ceiling, take down that ugly picture rail, and paint the remaining woodwork with a coat of blush cream instead of that grubby gravy colour.  Any dissenters?"

      Ashleigh giggled with girlish glee and shook her head.

      "Good.  Ashleigh sides with me, so it's unanimous.  Now for the furnishings.  We've a fine carpet here, and that bookcase deserves to stay.  But the three-piece suite is long past retirement age, and as for that sideboard and the standard lamp - they belong in a museum.  If no-one's thinking of opening this house as a heritage centre, I suggest we take immediate action."

      Ashleigh nodded.  "You're enjoying this, aren't you."

      "You know me," he smiled.  "Impulsive, all for taking bulls by horns.  Now let's see what we can make of the back room."

      There Peter proposed less radical changes, but suggested taking out the french windows and investing in a conservatory, extending the room onto a sunlit patio.

      "A great place to have breakfast," he noted, "or even a late lunch."

      Ashleigh looked at her watch.  It was half past one.  She put her hand to her mouth, and said:

      "Sorry!  I got carried away by your enthusiasm."

      "Oh, so now it's enthusiasm, not my former impetuosity?  Am I improving the product, or merely using better packaging?"

      "Is this how you used to be with young Julie?" she asked.

      Suddenly Peter's face lost its boyish glow.

      "I used to revel in Julie's admiration," he confided.  "All the time she was little, she adored me like an infallible God.  But when her mother turned on the poison, for a while I became the bad guy.  That was tough to take."

      Ashleigh barely whispered her question.  "What happened?"

      He sighed.  "It's a long story.  Sheila took to throwing mud, knowing some of it was bound to stick."

      "Do you want to tell me about it?"

      "Maybe some time, though I warn you, I'm likely to lose every ounce of your respect."

      "Didn't I tell you, I have great respect for honest salesmen?  They're not easy to find."

      "Maybe."  His voice grew soft as hurtful memories played havoc with his former high spirits.  Ashleigh touched him lightly on the arm.

      "Come on, Peter, this won't do.  Let's eat, then we'll talk some more.  You'll feel better after some lunch."

      She quickly prepared scrambled egg on toast, followed by tinned fruit and ice cream which they ate in the garden.  It was a fine autumn day with a blue sky and clouds that were pleading to be captured on canvas.  Afterwards they returned to the front room, and sat together on the settee.  Ashleigh offered no prompting questions.  She simply waited until Peter was ready.

      "It's an ugly story," he began, "and it feels uglier every time I tell it.  It all came out in open court when we went through the divorce, and it did my case no good at all."

      "Peter, you're no longer in court.  You're with a friend."

      There was a long silence.  Then Peter suddenly confronted Ashleigh, asking angrily if she'd ever been stung by a wasp.

      Ashleigh admitted she had, and described the complete lack of sympathy she'd received, repeating her aunt's very words:

      "That's your fault, silly child - you should be more careful."

      "Perhaps we all should," said Peter.  "Maybe Aunt Elsie knew a trick or two about that, but I seldom stop to weigh the consequences before I act.  Anyway, Julie came rushing in from the garden that day, screaming she'd been stung.  Without thinking I asked her to show me where, which she did, but she wouldn't stop screaming, yelling that her leg was still hurting and would I please stop the pain.  I went to rub it for her - it seemed the natural thing to do.  But the actual spot was above the knee.  That's when Sheila appeared.  My God, you can picture the scene - me with my hand up Julie's dress, and the girl squealing and telling me to stop it.  You've no idea how cheap I felt, standing there, trying to explain.  I found myself blurting out lame excuses as if I'd been caught red-handed doing something criminal.  I remember Sheila's words - what did I think I was doing? - and telling Julie to move away at once as if she was in mortal danger from some pervert.  Of course, Julie chose that very moment to stop yelling.  I guess the sudden appearance of Sheila stunned her into silence.  I'm sure Julie soon forgot the incident - but I was left branded as a man who couldn't resist putting his hand up his daughter's skirt.  To this day I can still see that gloating look in Sheila's eyes as she described every detail to the magistrate.  She never did trust me to be alone with Julie after that."

      Ashleigh allowed him a moment before asking quietly:

      "How long ago was this?"

      "Five years," he said, "when Julie was eleven, though the rot had already started.  Sheila was already on the lookout for any scrap of ammunition in her fight to gain custody."

      "I'd say your best testimonial comes from Julie.  In her eyes you can do no wrong.  She wants you back, Peter.  She still loves you very much."

      "I know.  But our relationship's been tainted, you see.  You've heard the saying: Mud Sticks?  You can never undo something like that, and the harder you try, the worse it gets.  The mud will always be there."

      Ashleigh instinctively reached for Peter's hand, pressing it to confirm her support.

      "Peter, most people believe only what they want to believe.  I know what I believe - that you're a good, caring father, and if a wasp chose to sting me this afternoon I'd come running to you with no qualms at all, no matter where the thing got me.  You may be a tetchy, snotty bastard when life goes wrong for you, Peter, but I can see now it's only a shell.  Last Sunday you showed me the real Peter Bushnall - you proved you do care about other people.  That was a wonderful thing you did for me, Peter, and I'm only sorry it had an unfortunate side-effect.  No, dammit, I'm not sorry.  If that hadn't happened, you wouldn't be here now."

      Peter looked up at her with a sheepish grin and shook his head.

      "You're a good friend, you know that?"

      "I'd certainly like to be.  I mean it, Peter.  Only - please, don't go rushing me into a situation I'm not ready to handle, okay?  Let me just get used to having a man around first, before anything else starts to happen."

      "Ashleigh, I'm perfectly happy just to be around and look after you as my surrogate daughter.  I told you, it's your companionship I enjoy - I can talk to you as a close friend, and what's more you actually listen.  That's good, and it's rare.  Do you know, we've exchanged more words in the last sixteen days than Sheila and I spoke in sixteen years?"

      "I'm sure there's a crisp answer to that," responded Ashleigh, "only I can't think of it, and I hate using clichés.  Let's talk about this money you owe Sheila.  What can we do about that?"

      "In my books I don't owe her anything.  She got that settlement by foul means because she had a devious lawyer working on her side.  I went in fighting with both fists and ended up looking a prize prat."

      "There's a man I'm due to see tomorrow," said Ashleigh.  "It's to do with Aunt Elsie's estate, though I've know him for years.  I could ask his opinion if you like."

      "Ashleigh, I'm broke.  There's no way I can afford further legal fees on top of everything else."

      "That's not what I'm saying, Peter.  He's a friend of Aunt Elsie's who happens also to be her solicitor.  I thought I might raise a hypothetical question and hear what he as to say.  Trust me!"

      "I do trust you, which is why I'm leaning on your support right now.  But I'm not here begging for help - I want to be useful.  Put a brush in my hand, point me to a wall and I'll start work wherever you say.  You're the boss, remember."

      "Your boss says Thank you, but we'll wait till I've seen Mr. Caplin tomorrow.  I'm not wasting money on paint if this house isn't about to become mine."

      "But who else would Aunt Elsie leave it to?  Did she harbour a secret toy-boy like Sheila's James, who's already so rich he's never had to do a real day's work in his life?  Imagine the gall of that toad, barely nine years older than Julie, swanning along like Pinocchio, expecting to take on my role as father, then leaving the poor kid alone in the house all evening, night after night, while he and Rat-Face go galloping off like a couple of born-again teenagers?  Meanwhile, here am I, perfectly willing to keep an eye on my own daughter and they insist I'm not to be trusted.  It makes my blood boil."

      "Then calm down and try to relax.  Have a browse through that bookcase and tell me if you reckon there's anything there I ought to keep."

      "Ashleigh, how am I supposed to know what's sentimental and what isn't?"

      "I told you - nothing here is sentimental.  This house is as unsentimental as a County Jail.  Especially this room."

      Peter gave her a warm smile.  "What happened in this room, Julie?"

      Ashleigh stared in open-mouthed wonder.  "You called me Julie!"

      "Sorry, Ashleigh.  I am sorry - it's the head - I'm not feeling my brightest."

      "No.  You were being your usual spontaneous self, and speaking from the heart.  Do you really think of me as another Julie?  Be honest, I can take it."

      "I think of you as my very special new friend, but I haven't quite reached the stage where your name pops up like toast every time I need it.  Until it does, why don't you stop quibbling and answer my question?"

      "About what happened in this room?  Ah!  And you thought your dignity was on the line?  Well, I never got stung here by a wasp, but I was locked in here for my entire twelve birthday without food or drink, for a crime known as Answering Back.  I remember crying and pounding on the door all afternoon, but my aunt simply snapped back telling me to be quiet.  Then she put on her hat and coat and spent the rest of the evening out somewhere.  I had no way of knowing if she was ever coming back.  And of course," she added, turning her head away, "if you lock up any animal for that length of time, it's bound to make a nasty mess."

      "You mean, you had an accident?  You wet yourself?"

      "Worse.  God, how I hated this room after that.  I got soundly beaten when she returned home, and eventually cried myself to sleep.  And remember, this was my birthday!   But I wasn't given any tea.  I wasn't allowed to forget it either.  Afterwards there was a faint farmy smell in this room that seemed to linger for months."

      "Oh, Ashleigh.  All that, just for answering back?"

      "No, for trying to find out why I couldn't have a party like everyone else.  I wasn't arguing, or trying to make her change her mind - I just wanted to know, to understand her reasoning.  I found it embarrassing when my friends kept asking me to theirs.  I never forgave her after that, in fact I clung to that memory all through her funeral service.  The trouble is, she may have driven me the same way.  That woman taught me how to be hard, how to fight my private battles on my own.  I'm not a good mixer."

      "We're all different, my love.  But if I ever call you Julie again, please take it as a compliment, because that's what it is."

      "Then please call me Julie again.  Please?"

      Peter looked down and rested his arms gently on Ashleigh's shoulders.

      "Hallo, Julie," he whispered.

      Ashleigh looked up into his earnest loving smile, and echoed a softly spoken: "Hallo, Daddy," as they drew each other close in an affectionate embrace.

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