In Dreams Ch. 01

"But Percy didn't live a Spartan life. He had the biggest log cabin that I've ever seen. With air-conditioning, and central heating for the cold winters; it had its own generator and everything. Fuel and supplies were trucked regularly during the summer months by a couple of real characters.

"Percy and I were looked after by two very attractive young women who did all the house keeping and cooking. It was all an act to keep Percy happy, but the two girls were supposed to be Native American Indian. Percy always kept harping on about Canadian heritage and that kind of thing. They both had long black hair and fairly... well dark complexions; but I happen to know that one of the girls was Mexican and the other originated from Eastern Europe somewhere.

"There were several guy's who I think were real Indians, they looked after the stock that I rarely clapped eyes on, unless I was out riding in the summer."

"Horses?"

"Yeah, or one of the trail-bikes. There were some of those skidoo things for the winter as well. But I preferred to stay hunkered down in the house during the winter months, it got bloody cold over there in the winter. Snow ten feet deep and more!"

"You liked it there though?"

"Loved it, but you never saw a soul. The nearest neighbours lived miles away. I think I only met them a couple of times in all the time I was out there."

"What about the miners, surely someone had to work the mine?"

"Ah now, the mines were hundreds of miles away. Uncle Percy owned the land and had the rights; but some big conglomerate did the actually mining. Percy got a healthy dividend on every ton of ore they extracted."

"But I thought you went out there to help in the mine?"

"So did I, when I went out there. I was expecting to be working underground and digging the stuff out of the ground by hand. But it appears that my eccentric great uncle, several times removed, had really been looking for an heir and not... as he used to put it, god rest his soul, a freeloader. On my arrival I discovered that Uncle Percy was the last leaf on the Canadian branch of my... our family tree. He'd inherited the mines, the ranch and things as his relatives died off one by one.

Being unmarried and without issue..."

"Issue?" Tara queried.

"He had no children of his own, that he knew of, Tara. Anyway, that left him with the problem of who to bequeath his assets to. He wanted them to go to someone who had the same Carson blood running in their veins as he had. Percy was into that kind of thing. He said he'd been looking for someone who shared the quest for adventure, living off the land out in the wilds. Well, eventually he got me! Not the best of deals, but Percy appeared quite happy about it!

"When he'd contacted my family years before to invite any of my young cousins who craved some adventure and excitement in their lives, to go out and join him. Percy had painted a picture of hard work and Spartan living. In fact, I did almost nothing at all while I was out there, except live in isolated luxury and enjoy myself. Very isolated luxury, but Mina and Totto were always there as well and they weren't much older than I was."

"The two housekeepers?"

"Yeah... the housekeepers. They were company of sorts." I assured her, remembering exactly whom I was relating the tale too.

"So I assume that your uncle must have passed away and that's why you came back to the UK."

"Spot-on Tara! Canada was very nice, but I prefer... Cornwall actually. Only I didn't know that when I did come back, I just stumbled across the county.

"In his will, Percy bequeathed Mina and Totto a lump sum each, invested wisely I believe; the interest it makes should keep them comfortable for the rest of their lives. And I got the rest of his capital and receive the dividends from the mines. The hands got the ranch and the cabin to share between them. I'm not excessively rich, but I'll get by."

I was being a little less than frank with Tara there. I've seen the effect overindulgence financially can have on some people, especially children. I'd decided that whatever happened I'd make sure that Tara would get everything she needed in the future; I'd make sure of that. But I had no intention of spoiling the child, if I could help it.

Three hours after we'd left my home in Cornwall I parked the Range Rover in the hospital car park and my daughter led the way to Ottilie's room. Tara entered first alone, to ensure that her grandfather was not present.

Tara discovered later – from a nurse -- that her grandfather had seen us crossing the car park from Ottilie's hospital room window and promptly made himself scarce. But before going he had informed the doctors and nursing staff that I was coming, and told them that I should have unlimited access to Ottilie and be advised and/or consulted about her care in the same way they did himself.

Ottilie did look a little different than I remembered her; but she was some sixteen years older, so that was not really a surprise to me. She was just as beautiful as she'd ever been.

However almost immediately I discerned a couple of scars on her face that should not have been there. No one said, but I assumed that they must have been the result of Bill Morris' actions during the previous fifteen years.

I made a mental note to find the bugger after he was released from prison and extract my own personal reprisal for those blemishes.

Now if you thought -- like I think my daughter might have done -- that there was going to be that Snow-White scene, where the handsome Prince swept in and awoke his sleeping beauty with one kiss... Well you got it wrong!

I did gently introduce myself to the comatose Ottilie that day and I kissed her on the forehead, twice. Once, shortly after we arrived and a second time just before Tara and I left. But Ottilie did not stir a muscle all the time we were in the room.

Except for the fact that we could see that her chest was rising and falling to prove that she was breathing unassisted; Ottilie might well have been dead for all I could tell.

Tara was well-versed in the procedure and quite blasé about it, but I had to learn the art of talking to a comatose patient. Eventually -- after listening to Tara at work for a while -- I realised that one has to have a one-sided conversation with the patient. Of course some people would probably find it far easier to get the hang of than I did. You should not talk to yourself (which I'm sure we all do); you have to talk to the patient.

During our visit a doctor came in to see me. He gave me chapter and verse on Ottilie's condition, going into minute detail. I'll be honest, besides learning that Bill Morris had fractured Ottilie's skull in several places and the doctors appeared to have been surprised that she'd survived the attack. I'd got more information -- that I could understand anyway -- out of Tara's explanation.

One thing he said that did register though, was that they had no idea how much long-term brain damage had Ottilie incurred. The guy implied that Ottilie -- if she ever did regain consciousness -- might be just confused for a while, at one extreme; or her brain function could be seriously impaired, at the other.

"We'll only know what the scenario is going to be, when and if she does regain full consciousness!" The doctor said.

"By full consciousness, do I take it that she..." I began to asked

"Oh yes, several times we thought that Ottilie was about to regain consciousness, but then she relapsed into deep coma again. She can become quite vocal on occasion." He informed me.

From the way he had phrased it, I got the impression that it was when Ottilie did do her muttering act that I... everyone was supposed to... well, try to talk her into coming back to us.

Listening to two people talking at the same time is not a strong point of mine. But as the doctor was speaking to me – and possibly the reason that I didn't understand half of the medical gobbledegook he had sprouted -- Tara had been relating to her mother, her recent adventures in Cornwall. How she'd successfully tracked down her father, and all about the ocean liner called Quiet Times he owned and the mansion that he lived in. She even mentioned my Range Rover and added a vivid description of the old Landey.

But what really caught my attention was when I heard Tara say.

"Daddy's still in love with you mother, you really need to come back to claim him now. Before he starts to think that you don't want him again!"

Should I have said something to Tara about it later? I don't know! By the time the doctor had left I figured it was too late anyway. Whether Tara gave her mother the same speech subsequently when I was not within earshot, I have no idea. I didn't hear her repeat it, if she did.

My daughter and I had our first... disagreement as we left the hospital that day. Tara wanted me to stay in Ottilie's house; back to where she implied, she was intending to move to be with me.

But after the previous nights experiences, I insisted that she remained living at her grandfather's house. I figured that I needed a lot more time, to ease myself into this daddying lark.

Oh by the way, somewhere along the line I'd come by the knowledge that Tara's grandmother... Ottilie's mother, had passed away several years before. Under what circumstance she had died, I know not and I have never enquired.

Whatever, Tara and I exchanged a few heated words, before I reminded her that I was her father and told her that she should humour me. But I added the bribe that I would take her out for dinner later that evening.

However Tara did insist on coming to the hotel with me while I booked in. Then I dropped her at her grandfather's house before returning to the hotel to wash and change. As I entered the hotel foyer on my way to collect Tara for dinner, I found her already there waiting for me there. She had talked her grandfather into dropping her off on his way to the hospital.

We enjoyed a leisurely meal together, then I dropped her back at her grandfather's house before returning to the hospital myself. Tara living with the old sod, turned out to be useful in a way; because I knew that if his car was there, then it was odds-on that he wouldn't be at the hospital. I really was not looking forward to our first physical confrontation; I feared that I might do something that would shame me forever.

Over the next few days and weeks, my life fell into a rough routine. Up for breakfast around eight AM. At the hospital just after nine where Tara would already be in her mother's room. Tara and I would have lunch together, then around three I'd drop her back home. Why three o'clock? Because that was when Tara's grandfather would take over. During the evening Tara and I would eat together and I'd usually drop her home again before returning to the hospital for the night shift. I'd usually leave to go back to my hotel around four in the morning, although sometimes I'd pass-out in the chair beside Ottilie's bed. The nurses would never wake me unless they wanted me out of their way for some reason.

The first thing of real significance that occurred was while Tara and I were sitting there with Ottilie one morning a week or so after I'd got up there. One of the nurses came into the room and attracted Tara's attention by calling her Miss Carson. This made me look up and I immediately noticed that both the nurse and Tara were grinning back at me.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Oh Miss Carson! Thinks it's terribly funny that you haven't noticed." The nurse replied.

Because the nurse had repeated it, it struck home. "You mean Miss Morris." I told her.

"No she means Miss Carson, dad." Tara replied, "I've had my name changed by deed pole. Well to tell you the truth grandfather organised it for me. Now everyone will realise who my father is and we shouldn't get any more of those strange looks."

I hadn't noticed any strange looks. But perhaps I'm not as observant as my daughter. Or maybe I didn't dash around like a dervish introducing Tara to everyone I vaguely knew that we happened to run into. Literally anyone Tara could think of an excuse to introduce me to, to be precise.

A week or so later, when the time came for Tara to return to school for the autumn term. She even wangled it for me to go to her school one morning and be introduced to her teachers so that they could inform me of her progress. I had never had the opportunity to attend any of the school open evenings. Anyway, another new experience for a totally unprepared parent.

It appeared that most of her teachers were fully aware of the circumstance of my sudden appearance on the scene and didn't appear at all phased by Tara's change of surname. Neither did any of Tara's school friends she introduced me to when the opportunity presented itself. I was finding everyone's reaction that morning quite confusing until Tara led into her English teacher's classroom.

To my complete astonishment Mrs Carter turned out to be Sylvia Carter one of Ottilie and my childhood friends. Much to my consternation and the amusement of her class, and Tara. Sylvia she didn't formally shake my hand as Tara's other teachers had done; Sylvia embraced me, kissed me on the cheek, and addressed me as Bouncer.

She further embarrassed me by announcing to her students -- I suspect aimed at the more unrulier of them -- that as a young boy I had gained a reputation for teaching ignorant fellow pupils a few manners and how they should behave in the classroom. That probably explained why I'd never found myself getting expelled from school for fighting.

It soon became obvious to me that Sylvia, on hearing of Tara's name change, had put two and two together and promptly briefed Tara's other teachers on the full situation in the school staff room. I didn't mind that really, because it had saved me from a lot of repetitive and unnecessary explanations that morning.

After singing my daughter's praises, and assuring me that Tara was a model student. Sylvia suggest that we should have dinner together one evening; when -- she added -- she would be able to reintroduce me to her husband; another of my old school buddies.

It was painfully obvious to me that Sylvia and Ottilie had not been on good terms when they'd last met, probably at a school open evening. I came to that conclusion, because Sylvia did not mention Ottilie by name, habitually she referred to her as Tara's mother.

I had had some experience with a few one parent, divorced passengers on Quiet Times. In my experience one parent referring to their ex-spouse as the child's mother or father, tended to indicate a certain amount of animosity. Sylvia having grown up, as I had, with Ottilie; I figured that something had to have driven a wedge between them.

Of course at the time I wasn't savvy enough to realise that that wedge would turn out to be me. But I'll come to that shortly.

A couple of days later Sylvia got in contact with me to invite me out for a meal with some of our old friends. In fact I found a brief message waiting for me at the hotel reception desk when I arrived back there at five AM that morning. The message made it patently clear that the invitation was for me and that Tara was not included. I sort-of figured that was for teacher student reasons, but that assumption was subsequently proved wrong

The night of the meal, I walked into the restaurant to find that almost the whole gang of our old school friends were present; including their respective spouses, many of whom I did not know.

Introductions were made all round and then getting on for thirty of us sat down to eat. During the meal I was questioned about all my experiences in the wilds of Canada. They got the exaggerated flowery version. Once again it became obvious that everyone was purposely avoiding mentioning Ottilie.

As we adjourned to the bar, I realised that there was hidden agenda behind the evening. Sylvia and Mavis Burton (nee Crouch) steered me to a table at the far end of the small bar. I was all but pushed in behind it, then all of the girls and a couple of my old school mates seated themselves around the rest of the table as best they could fit in. All their spouses headed for the other end of the room, as far away as they could get. They only came near to keep everyone around the table's glasses well filled.

"Okay Taylor what's the real story!" Toby, One of my old mates asked.

"I'm Tara's father and that's all there is to it!"

"No, come on mate! What are you doing back here, running around her; after what Ottilie did to you?"

"She ditched you without a word of explanation and then decided to marry Bill Morris and made him the father of your child." Sylvia joined in. "That's not just callous, that's evil... calculated cruelty. We know that you didn't know about the child when you left, but Ottilie ditching you without explanation and marrying Bill Morris was what drove you into leaving the country in the first place."

"Ah now, for many years that's what I thought as well. But then my daughter tracked me down."

"Yeah well, learning that you did have a child that you didn't even know existed... I would have thought that would have made you even angrier, I know that I'd have blown my bloody top." Toby replied.

"Funny thing Toby. The news that I had been a daddy for years and hadn't known, did piss me off some. But then, when you've got an angel like my Tara bringing you the news. Well, it kind-a tempers that anger a little. Then she told me that Bill Morris had been knocking Ottilie about... well I think a lot of my anger transferred onto him. And Ottilie's father of course, he was behind everything that happened back then, as someone sitting around this table well knows."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Toby asked.

"Well Toby. My daughter can be one hell of a chatterbox when she gets started. And it seems... and I'm not completely sure why, that Frank Thorn confessed all to Tara a few weeks back. Following something that Ottilie had apparently muttered during one or her vocal sessions. And guess what, I came to the conclusion that someone sitting around this table, related the story to Frank Thorn that I might be thinking about heading to Canada for a few years; well before I'd actually made up my mind to go."

"But it was common knowledge that you were going." Sylvia pointed out.

"It was Sylvia, but only for less than a month before I went. My family wanted me to go, but I hadn't agreed to, until that announcement that Morris and Ottilie were engaged appeared in the local paper. And my Tara insists that her mother never agreed to marry Bill Morris until after she'd been told that I had already left the country. Now, besides my family, the only other people who were aware that I was even contemplating the trip are sat around this table this evening. So I have to ask which of you..."

I was interrupted by Mavis Burton... um, well, her husband Peter who had been seated beside Mavis had suddenly disappeared backwards, crashing to the ground. I hadn't been watching them, but there was no mistaking the fact that Mavis had to have... well, thumped him. And I'll point out that Mavis -- had she been a boxer -- would have been fighting in the heavyweight class. Super-heavyweight, more like; if you get my drift? Mavis had always been, what is known in polite society, as a big girl!

You bastard, Taylor was our friend!" Mavis shouted down at her dazed and prostrate husband.

Pete Burton made no attempt to get up. I think he was utterly shocked by his wife's sudden outburst. As we all were.

Mavis looked around the table and then said. "Well... didn't we all wonder how Peter swung that bloody apprenticeship at Ballard's. Christ nearly all the boys went after it, and they took Peter?"