another convulsive burst of weeping.
‘Is it me?’ he rasped in anguish. ‘Do you want me to go? Get out of your life?’
‘No…no…’
The tightness in his chest eased as he breathed again. Her face burrowed into the thick cloth covering his shoulder. She snuffled like a wounded child in need of succour. His arms tightened around her, yearning to impart a healing love.
‘Tell me, Jayne,’ he pleaded. ‘Let me help.’
‘I…don’t…know…if you can. It’s…not…fair.’ She hiccupped, struggling for some control. She sounded deathly tired. Exhausted. ‘You’re…you, Dan.’
‘And you are you. I want to know, to understand. Please…if it doesn’t hurt too much?’
She snuffled some more, took deep breaths, laid her head limply on his shoulder. ‘All my life…endless moving…the people…a passing parade of strangers. No time to fit in and belong. Like a shadow of a person. No substance. I didn’t count. I didn’t mean anything to anyone. Until I met you.’
‘You mean more to me than I can tell you, Jayne,’ he assured her with deep fervour. ‘Believe it. It’s true.’
‘Oh, Dan!’ It was a long, tremulous sigh of longing. ‘I loved you so much. You made me feel important.’
‘You were. You are.’
‘But you wanted to move on…and on. And I lost myself again. It all became unreal. As though I was a marionette being pulled along by your strings. And I can’t face that feeling again. I’m not like your mother. Nor mine,’ she added dully.
‘Yours?’ This was new territory for him. He felt compelled to explore it as far as he could. Later he could think about what she was telling him, what it meant in terms of the love and life he wanted to have with her.
‘She went everywhere with my father. I think she kept track of things for the band. It was their life.’
He vaguely recollected Jayne telling him her father had been a musician. Her mother had probably had the organizational skills Jayne had inherited.
‘I don’t think she minded where they went as long as it was together. The band was like a family to both of them.’
‘Not to you?’
‘I guess…in an offhand kind of way. They found places for me to live…people who’d take me in for a while…after my mother died.’
‘How old were you then, Jayne?’
‘Seven.’
And here she was, twenty years later, still without what she had needed all her life. A secure home base. People that she knew, who knew her,down the continuity of years of knowing. Acceptance, approval, appreciation for all that she was and could be. Substance. Roots.
He closed his eyes and barely stifled a groan as the signposts she’d given him flashed through his mind with poignant power.
The need to establish her own identity.
Satisfaction in using the skills she knew she had.
Pride, self-respect…not a nothing person nor a second-class citizen without a voice of her own.
A home for Anya Micaela to come to if she ever needed it, wanted it.
And the self-absorption he had accused her of…she didn’t know any other way to survive except to turn in on the inner strength that she had silently depended on with no other supportive constant in her life.
The insights came so strongly, not only filling in the picture he had wanted but colouring it so vividly he could feel himself recoiling from the emotional neglect and the intense personal isolation that were the sum of her experience…except for what she had known with him…for a while.
‘Dan…’
‘Mmmh?’
‘Thanks for holding me up and giving me your robe to cry on.’
‘The least I could do,’ he said with sad irony.
‘I’m all washed out, Dan.’
She sounded it, drained and infinitely weary. ‘I’ll walk you to your bed. You might fall or stumble.’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘Don’t argue. I’m your boss and I need you on your feet tomorrow. Okay?’
She sighed and sagged her surrender to his management. He bent and scooped her off her feet. She needed to be
‘Is it me?’ he rasped in anguish. ‘Do you want me to go? Get out of your life?’
‘No…no…’
The tightness in his chest eased as he breathed again. Her face burrowed into the thick cloth covering his shoulder. She snuffled like a wounded child in need of succour. His arms tightened around her, yearning to impart a healing love.
‘Tell me, Jayne,’ he pleaded. ‘Let me help.’
‘I…don’t…know…if you can. It’s…not…fair.’ She hiccupped, struggling for some control. She sounded deathly tired. Exhausted. ‘You’re…you, Dan.’
‘And you are you. I want to know, to understand. Please…if it doesn’t hurt too much?’
She snuffled some more, took deep breaths, laid her head limply on his shoulder. ‘All my life…endless moving…the people…a passing parade of strangers. No time to fit in and belong. Like a shadow of a person. No substance. I didn’t count. I didn’t mean anything to anyone. Until I met you.’
‘You mean more to me than I can tell you, Jayne,’ he assured her with deep fervour. ‘Believe it. It’s true.’
‘Oh, Dan!’ It was a long, tremulous sigh of longing. ‘I loved you so much. You made me feel important.’
‘You were. You are.’
‘But you wanted to move on…and on. And I lost myself again. It all became unreal. As though I was a marionette being pulled along by your strings. And I can’t face that feeling again. I’m not like your mother. Nor mine,’ she added dully.
‘Yours?’ This was new territory for him. He felt compelled to explore it as far as he could. Later he could think about what she was telling him, what it meant in terms of the love and life he wanted to have with her.
‘She went everywhere with my father. I think she kept track of things for the band. It was their life.’
He vaguely recollected Jayne telling him her father had been a musician. Her mother had probably had the organizational skills Jayne had inherited.
‘I don’t think she minded where they went as long as it was together. The band was like a family to both of them.’
‘Not to you?’
‘I guess…in an offhand kind of way. They found places for me to live…people who’d take me in for a while…after my mother died.’
‘How old were you then, Jayne?’
‘Seven.’
And here she was, twenty years later, still without what she had needed all her life. A secure home base. People that she knew, who knew her,down the continuity of years of knowing. Acceptance, approval, appreciation for all that she was and could be. Substance. Roots.
He closed his eyes and barely stifled a groan as the signposts she’d given him flashed through his mind with poignant power.
The need to establish her own identity.
Satisfaction in using the skills she knew she had.
Pride, self-respect…not a nothing person nor a second-class citizen without a voice of her own.
A home for Anya Micaela to come to if she ever needed it, wanted it.
And the self-absorption he had accused her of…she didn’t know any other way to survive except to turn in on the inner strength that she had silently depended on with no other supportive constant in her life.
The insights came so strongly, not only filling in the picture he had wanted but colouring it so vividly he could feel himself recoiling from the emotional neglect and the intense personal isolation that were the sum of her experience…except for what she had known with him…for a while.
‘Dan…’
‘Mmmh?’
‘Thanks for holding me up and giving me your robe to cry on.’
‘The least I could do,’ he said with sad irony.
‘I’m all washed out, Dan.’
She sounded it, drained and infinitely weary. ‘I’ll walk you to your bed. You might fall or stumble.’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘Don’t argue. I’m your boss and I need you on your feet tomorrow. Okay?’
She sighed and sagged her surrender to his management. He bent and scooped her off her feet. She needed to be
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