” He paused, listening, smiling at me.“Oh you have one of those phones that records the number,” he laughed, “I didn’t think you were so 21st century,” he added, clearly familiar with him. Our eyes were on each other as he spoke and he motioned to me to start eating. I reached for a slice of bread and buttered it, not wanting to start without him. “This young woman’s car slid off the road about five minutes from my place on the East Carter Road--just past the big curve. It’s late now but can you tow it here in the morning, that way we can make sure it’s okay.” He listened for a minute then said, “Thanks George. See you in the morning. Give my regards to that sweet wife of yours.” He hung up and smiled at me. “Hope you don’t mind waiting ‘till the morning for your car?” he asked. “And what if I did?” “I’d say too bad--that’s the way it’s going to be,” he answered, buttering a slice of bread. “You think you’re pretty tough, don’t you, holding me captive in your cabin in the woods.”. I know from what our friends were to tell me later, that Becky was doing exactly the same thing. But then the hand of fate stepped in and dealt us a deathblow.My older brother and his wife, who had emigrated to Australia some years before, were involved in a serious road accident. My sister and I immediately flew out there to look after the children and their business.It was only later that I was to realise, I should have sorted things out with Becky before I went, but hindsight can be wonderful thing; you can always see your mistakes when you look back on them. A letter or two to Rebecca could have made all the difference to our lives.It was eight months before I returned to England. I quickly learnt through the grapevine, that Becky had got herself pregnant by some guy; they had married and moved up north.Her friends told me that she had been really upset when she heard I had gone down under; they all, including Becky, had thought I had emigrated out there for good and had no idea.
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