Disclaimer: same as ever. It’s fiction. It’s made up. It does not having any bearing on reality whatsoever.

Basically there are only two people who have the right to say that what I write is offensive. And only two people who could ever make me take it down.

If anyone had ever told me…

If anyone had ever told me in the dark days that followed Darren’s death that in twenty years time I would be sat out on my own smallholding in the middle of the country watching my eighteen year old adoptive daughter prepare for yet another gymkhana which she was *bound* to win, I would have called them a fool. More than that I would have called them crazy and politely pointed them in the direction of the nearest lunatic asylum.

But here I am, late forties, watching as Lucy expertly takes another jump and clears it with hardly any more effort than if it had been a twig in her path on a lazy Sunday afternoon stroll. She rides like she was born in the saddle, back straight, arms relaxed. Rides like that when she is competing but when she is hacking over our land, trying to race her brothers or capture a stray member of our ever increasing four-footed family then she rides like the wind, hair loose, body free, completely at home out here, seemingly content not to worry about such trivialities as other girls her age get caught up in. The livestock is going to miss her when she goes away to college this Spring. Heck, *I’m* going to miss her.

The puppy in my arms wriggles and squeaks, begging to be put down to play with its five siblings. As I do so it licks at the back of my hand, at the faint black ink smudge still visible there, evidence that last night was spent watching my step son and his band headline at a local festival. Something tells me that it won’t be too long before they are playing ‘Big Day Out.’

Mark says that it is still a mystery to him where Jason gets his musical ability from. Not from him that’s for sure. Much as I love him I don’t stick around to hear the results when he starts singing in the shower.

If anyone had ever told me that I would fall in love again…

That I would still be with him sixteen years on…

But you knew didn’t you.

A car is heard pulling up our gravel driveway and jumping down off of the paddock fence I walk towards the new arrivals.

It’s Mark’s fiftieth birthday in two days times and the whole family is gathering to help him celebrate. We’ve fallen deaf to his protesting, personally I think he is protesting just a little too much and is secretly enjoying all the extra attention that everyone has been lavishing on him.

My parents are already here. Upstairs resting after their long drive out here. Mark’s are due to arrive tomorrow. Both sets are getting old and fragile now and although we have yet to broach the subject with them we have been talking seriously between ourselves about the prospect of building a couple of ‘granny bungalows’ on the far side of the meadow. Far enough away so that they can maintain their independence (and let us keep ours!) but close enough that, heaven forbid, anything should go wrong we can be there in a matter of minutes.

No, the car that has just pulled up contains the latest addition to our strange but loveable family. At ‘T’ minus two months, Tim’s girlfriend is the picture of health, her stomach round and full, her face glowing with the vitality of carrying our unborn grandchild. Melissa is a lovely girl and whilst we would have perhaps preferred for them to be a little older before they attempted to bring another life into this world, her grace and maturity more than make up for our son’s at times apparent complete lack of anything remotely resembling common sense.

Jason keeps teasing her and telling her that she had better familiarise herself with the hospital when she goes into labour because if that kid ends up anything like it’s father she is going to be seeing an awful lot of the inside of the A&E waiting room between now and when it leaves home.

I’m not sure she finds his words all that reassuring.

Lucy does one final round and then heads off for the stable whilst I take Melissa by the arm and help her up the steps into the house leaving Tim to bring the bags. If he’s man enough to father a child he’s man enough to carry a couple of overnight bags in.

Entering the coolness of the house I call out for Mark letting him know that more of our guests have arrived. He calls back from his study informing us that he will be joining us shortly. ‘Just closing a deal with New York.’ He says. Someone tell me how I, Daniel Hayes-Jones, the most laid back guy on the planet got together with a committed workaholic because I am still to figure that one out.

I pull my weight but illustrating graphic novels is a lot less stressful than brokering billion dollar advertising deals. Well unless a deadline looms and then I turn into a bit of a multi headed beast and the kids all fly to the four corners of the universe.

Jason emerges from the basement which he uses as a rehearsal space. He never did get over his black phase and is every inch the rock star in waiting. He reminds me of Darren in some respects. He used to say that he dreamt once of becoming a pop star but decided that teaching would be a much more useful career for him to pursue. How many young minds would he have reached by now had he lived I wonder. How many future Shakespeares or Shelleys would he have inspired?

There are more hugs all round as Jason greets Tim and Melissa, the bump is admired and felt as the child decides that it wants in on this little family reunion as well.

The pups have found their way up the steps by now and Rhiannon, their mother, ignores their yelps and cries as she fusses around Tim’s legs, her tail going nineteen to the dozen in welcome.

I pick up the smallest, and I have to say my favourite, of her excitable brood. Doze II. It broke my heart when I came down early one morning last Summer and found Doze, reliable, faithful old Doze, lying out on the porch forever more asleep. So we got Rhiannon and Tigger, content to let nature take its course and bless us with a litter of fluff balls that somehow manage to chew, pee on or generally destroy anything that isn’t kept behind a closed door.

Mark appears as I am brewing the coffee. His nose lending him perfect timing as ever.

Mark.

I still don’t believe how lucky I am to be sharing what remains of my life with him.

There was a time when I thought I would never love again. When I though my heart had been buried in the cold ground with Darren’s body. I knew it had been right to let him go, I couldn’t bear to see him suffer like that any longer and it was what he wanted. I couldn’t deny him his last request. So he had died at home, in my arms, in dignity.

His doctor must have had his suspicions although he never said anything, just signed the death certificate stating that Darren had died from A.I.D.S related pneumonia. Died from a disease that his body no longer had the strength to cope with.

I shudder to think what would have happened had I gone to prison. I would have gone and gone willingly, I would have done anything for Darren but I wouldn’t be standing here today surrounded by my love, my kids, my animals that much I do know for sure.

I owe Mark a lot. He taught me to love again. Taught me that it wasn’t wrong to still think of Darren even when I was with him. He understood and for that I shall be forever grateful.

Of course I never imagined that I would meet a guy and instantly inherit a step-son. But that’s the way of the world sometimes.

It’s when you are not looking for something that it finds you.

We were having a clear out a few years back and I came across a paper that Jason had written for some creative writing class Mark had encouraged him to take when he was a teenager. It was simply entitled ‘My Family’. The words he had written made me so proud. The paper now resides in a box in our wardrobe along with such things as the twins milk teeth and their old school reports.

Beside it is another box, one full of keepsakes from my life with Darren. A copy of our wedding invitation, the funny little notes of apology that he used to write me when he felt he had upset me in some way or another, photos…

Some of the photos hang in my study, again sharing wall space with pictures of me and Mark, pictures of the kids on family holidays. Everyone coexists quite happily side-by-side.

I remember when Jason asked me about Darren. How he just accepted it. Sometimes kids have a lot more intelligence and insight than we as adults give them credit for.

The twins were the same.

Darren just was. Mark had a wife. I had Darren. It was as simple as that.

Everyone comes with a past. Its part of being human. Its what you do with that past that defines you as a person.

Me, I remember it. Remember the good times, try not to get too sad about the bad. It’s shaped me. Its part of who I am today.

Do I wish that Darren was still here today? Of course I do. I wish that we could have grown old together, had kids and a place in the country.

But if that had happened then I wouldn’t have met Mark, wouldn’t be here now, feeling his breath tickling my ear as he lays his head on my shoulder and says… ‘Just be sure you have the fire buckets close to hand when I blow out the candles on my cake tomorrow.’