Frankie Fey - 6. Return to Civilization, Education and Reality

The following morning at half past ten, after a breakfast of fish and chips that Frankie failed to keep down due to nervousness and a stomach unused to anything other than lentils, beans and raw herbs, they watched the plane touch down at Hobart Terminal. Frankie waited nervously. Would Inge really be pleased to see him? Ten minutes later Ingenio appeared through the arrivals door, looked around, saw Frankie and waved with the old friendly smile and slightly crooked front teeth. Frankie had forgotten how young, lean and bookish he looked. He’d even forgotten he wore glasses. But he sure hadn't forgotten how much he loved him. He pointed him out to Sylvan.’

‘You're joking. He’s only a kid, no more than a couple of years older than you!’

‘He’s twenty-seven. But you're right; he does look young. Do we look alike?’

‘You're both young—but that's about it. You’re lean and tough and look as if you'd be a dangerous man to cross. He looks as if he’d use words rather than fists, and would prefer to be reading than diving into icy water and scrubbing himself with sand.’

Frankie laughed. ‘Ingenio’s tough, mentally, and you can trust him to back you up.’

As he was carrying only a small holdall, there was no waiting and suddenly they were hugging in relief at finding each other again. This time it was Ingenio who was crying—from relief at finding Frankie not only alive but in excellent health, looking fitter, leaner, older and somehow more mature. Certainly no longer a boy.

Frankie introduced Sylvan who shook Ingenio’s hand somewhat diffidently. He was at home in the forest with other wild creatures, but felt awed by the intelligent eyes, questioning looks and smile of Frankie’s self-possessed uncle.

‘It’s freezing!’ Ingenio shivered. ‘Aren't you cold, Frankie?’

Frankie shook his head. ‘This is warm compared to where I've been living.’

‘You make me feel soft.’

‘You don’t look soft,’ Sylvan stated abruptly. ‘You look… I don’t know, like…’

‘A geek?’ Ingenio laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Sylvan. I’m used to being told I look like a nerdy schoolkid. It has its uses—stupid people don’t take me seriously so I can get away with murder.’

‘No!’ Sylvan was embarrassed. ‘You don’t look stupid; you look…nice. It’s your smile and easy manner. It’s...’

‘Flattery, Sylvan is the key to my heart. But you're the hero of the day. I've no idea how I can ever thank you for saving Frankie from my mad parents. Seriously, we’ll owe you forever. If you're ever in Melbourne, or you need anything… no matter what, where or when, contact us and we’ll do whatever we can.’

Sylvan thanked Ingenio shyly, then looked away and grunted something indecipherable.

Frankie grabbed his arm, pulled him to face him, looked into his eyes and said carefully. ‘Sylvan, Ingenio means it. We’ll both be there for you whenever you need us. Ok?’

‘Thanks,’ Sylvan said with more certainty this time. ‘You two are unalike physically, but oddly alike in character. How long are you staying?’

‘The return flight’s at three thirty.’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Tea and a biscuit on the plane. Too busy before leaving.’

‘If there are clothes for Frankie in there,’ Sylvan pointed to the overnight bag. ‘He can change in the toilets before we get you both something to eat. Frankie couldn’t hold down his breakfast from excitement.’

Over sandwiches and tea at Café Marée where innocuous background music in an unpretentious environment allowed more or less private conversation, Frankie gave Ingenio a quick run down of his months as a quasi monk, and heaped praise on Sylvan for daring to rescue him without resorting to the use of his superman strength. Ingenio thanked Sylvan again, laughed at his farewell insult to his parents, shook his head at their filthy lifestyle and apparent craziness, and asked if he ought to do something for them.

‘Why would you?’ Sylvan asked. ‘They're not mad. They struck me as sane and selfish, doing exactly what they want without concern for anyone. Now their young slave has gone, I wouldn’t mind betting they clean up their act, get some decent food and have a proper dwelling built—that is if they want to stay. More likely they’ll sell the land and buy a place in Hobart. Do you agree, Frankie?’

‘Yeah. Don’t go near them, Inge, they’ll only try to make you feel guilty and trap you. I never want to see them again—honestly.’

After a comfortable silence while they finished eating, Sylvan asked nervously, ‘Does Frankie have an aunt who’s as nice as his uncle?’

‘Ingenio laughed pleasantly. ‘No, he has another uncle, whose name is Constantine, and who is mentally a bit like me but physically more robust.’

‘And very handsome,’ Frankie added. ‘I love him almost as much as Inge and you.’ He turned to Ingenio. ‘Sylvan’s got a nosey wife which is why we slept under the stars last night, so she wouldn’t find out about me and insist we prosecute Grandpa.’

Sylvan blushed. ‘Well, I said that because I was too embarrassed to tell you she kicked me out six weeks ago and I've been sleeping rough ever since.’

‘Why?’

‘I wasn’t able to give her a baby.’

Wasn’t able or didn’t want to?’ Ingenio’s eyes were alert.

‘Both. I don’t want the responsibility; and I’m impotent.’ Sylvan sighed hopelessly. ‘There, I've said it. Embarrassing eh?’ he sighed again. ‘Let’s forget it. There’s nothing I can do.’

Ingenio laughed.

‘It’s not funny.’

‘You're right, it isn't. It’s tragic. You're a fabulously fit and strong man in the prime of life who is sexually attracted to other men, but married to a woman who wants kids but doesn't want you.’

‘Hang on! What makes you think I'm queer?’

‘I can’t imagine a heterosexual male of your age taking the trouble to look after a fifteen-year-old youth, can you?’

‘Well…’

‘When you were Frankie’s age, how many men took a genuine interest in you for yourself, not because you could do something for them?’

Sylvan frowned, looked up and said slowly, ‘None. Not even my father. He always wanted me to be something other than what I wanted. You're right… most men, including teachers, treated me as if I was a nuisance unless they wanted something. It seemed like they had to prove they were superior. I hated most of them.’

‘There you have it. Only people like us would do as you have done because we can empathise with a boy who isn't like all the others. By the way, I don’t identify as queer or gay or any other label. I’m just a man whose natural inclination is to live with and love another man.’

‘That’s a definition I could live with.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Thirty-two.’

‘Get the divorce then find yourself a man to share your life with.’

‘Where will I find this mythical man?’

‘Doing what you like doing.’

‘I love being a Ranger.’

‘Then jerk off to the trees until you come across someone similarly inclined.’

Sylvan grunted a laugh. ‘When did you discover you wanted a man instead of a woman?’

‘I’ve always known it, in the same way you’ve always known what you want.’

‘Ah,’ Sylvan said thoughtfully. ‘There lies the rub. I’ve never known what I wanted—just done what everyone expected me to. All my mates were doing it, the family expected it, and when my wife proposed I said Ok because I like her—she’s a good woman. But now….’

‘You want my advice?’

Sylvan nodded.

‘If your wife will take you back, then perhaps you could compromise and adopt a child. A dull marriage with someone you like in a social setting where you are respected and welcome, is perhaps better than a lonely life getting the occasional fuck from strangers while being shunned by your old friends. It’s much harder for us to find good partners than it is for heterosexuals. The population of Tasmania is about three hundred thousand. Half are children. Half the adults are females. Of the seventy-five thousand adult men there are only about three and a half thousand gays—not a vast pool from which to select someone to share your life with, especially as some are already spoken for, about half are in false marriages, and a good proportion of the rest are in denial. Actually, the number of available gays will be infinitesimal because they tend to migrate to Melbourne, Sydney or Brisbane. Even on the mainland it’s hard to find someone compatible, which is why there's as much family violence and as many messy divorces amongst same sex couples as among heterosexuals.’

‘So I just put up with it?’

‘You do what makes you happy, after thinking carefully about consequences. Go to a gay club, go home with a few guys, and then decide. If you come to Melbourne, I insist you give me a ring.’ He fished in his wallet, produced a card and passed it to Sylvan. ‘This is our address; I don’t have a mobile phone because I trust no one.’ He searched Sylvan’s face. ‘I meant what I said earlier, you’ll always be welcome.’

‘Then I am doubly flattered that you trust me.’

‘You’ve proven yourself better than trustworthy, you're also a decent man.’

Sylvan had to return to work to write up and hand in his report on the Hartz Park inspection, so after an emotional farewell from Frankie, he returned to work.

The reunited pair filled in the remaining hours wandering through the shopping centre, and like all genuinely happy people saw nothing they wanted to buy except some bread, cheese and rolls that they took down to the harbour, sitting on the edge of an old wooden wharf with their legs dangling just above the water. Frankie wondered if he ought to get a haircut, but Ingenio said he liked it long because it suited his new wild persona.

‘Are you saying I've gone feral?’

‘Well, you have been living in a wild semi-natural state after escaping from domestication, haven't you? From me that’s a compliment, so treasure it.’

Frankie grinned happily. Feral. He liked the sound of it. He certainly didn’t feel or want to be domesticated and was relieved that Ingenio didn’t expect him to be.

The flight was exciting. The small plane flew low enough to see fishermen on boats on the choppy sea below, and Melbourne looked just like flying over a Google map. Constantine was waiting for them and the reunion was all Frankie had hoped for.

*****

It was a profound relief, yet strangely unsettling to be back in civilization. It took several days before he could get used to living with people who chattered and talked and laughed and took an interest in everything. They didn’t pump him for information, wisely letting him offload his experiences in dribs and drabs as he processed them himself. What he missed almost painfully was the forest filled with non-human life, the clean air and possibility of danger, new things to discover, and the knowledge that whatever happened to him during the day was totally the result of his own efforts. Melbourne smelled dirty, the air thick, the noise constant and invasive. He tried to meditate but couldn’t exclude all the things he disliked and couldn’t ignore them. His brain felt as contaminated as his lungs.

And he’d lost his independence. Instead of being a lone wolf he was part of a team and had to consider the others. And there was nowhere to escape to! At least nowhere he wanted to go. Parks were tame and full of idiots. The city centre was jammed with cars and humans but no other life, and unbearably noisy. At least there was no television in Ingenio’s house, nor radio, as according to Constantine all mass media were merely mouthpieces of multinational corporations and subversive of all that was decent. At nights he slept peacefully, appreciating the warmth and lack of fear, but some mornings he woke in tears at the realisation that outside was not wilderness, but mean suburbia and millions of incredibly stupid people who let others tell them how to live.

He managed to keep most of his sadness concealed, and spent a lot of time with Con who told him to also remember the unpleasant things like loneliness and fear at nights, the inherent danger of being alone in a forest, of accidents by falling, or poisonous snakes or falling ill. It was Constantine who persuaded Frankie to attend the local High School to complete his final year so he could go to university.

Frankie wasn’t sure he wanted to, but agreed it’d be stupid not to keep all options open. ‘But I'll be at least a year behind the other kids; they’ll never enrol me.’

‘It’s not a State School, so they enrol whoever they like, as long as they pay. Last month the Victorian government decided to sell all services to private enterprise, from health and welfare to education, transport, police and prisons and communications. From now on the government’s sole function is to pass laws and collect taxes to pay for their own generous, life-time salaries and superannuation packages.’

‘Then who pays for all the other things?’

‘Whoever uses them. No money? No services.’

‘But what about all the poor people who can’t find work?’

‘They starve, get sick and die under bridges. People have finally woken up to the fact that the planet is dangerously overpopulated, so this is a solution. A slow one, but things are speeding up as winter approaches.’

‘A nasty solution.’

‘Not nasty, natural. It’s how all animals behave when threatened. It keeps me busy.’

‘How?’

‘The corporations that run the prisons need a ninety percent occupancy to make sufficient profit, so they set targets for the cops, who target anyone wandering around alone. They goad them into swearing or giving the fingers, then shove them in prison for attacking a police officer. I try to get as many off as I can.’

‘But if they're poor, how do they pay you?’

‘With the fruits of their labour. Stolen food, drink, petrol, clothes.’

‘You accept stolen property? You! A lawyer.’

‘Two companies own all food and clothing stores in the country and they collude on prices. That's stealing, so it’s only justice to steal from them. Subsidiaries of eight large multinational companies own every thing in Australia from accommodation to agriculture, horticulture to vehicle spare parts. Construction to roads, transport to food. You name it, it’s ultimately in the hands of one of the eight corporations.’

Why don’t people complain?’

‘Who to? All mass media are owned by corporations who like things the way they are. Consumer complaints are handled by the same businesses that are complained about. We’re back to the time when kings and their henchmen owned everything and everyone else lived at the king’s pleasure in more or less slavery. It’s the way human society has been organised ever since they started living in villages and towns.’

*****

During the evenings of the first week back at school, Ingenio brought Frankie up to scratch in all his subjects—English, Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Maths, Philosophy and Drama, by using an individualised digital learning programme based on the national curriculum that he had designed, and was in the process of refining before putting it on the market. Constantine’s equally useful contribution to enhancing the young man’s future prospects was to convince him that it was more fun and more sensible to make people like you than to antagonise them.

‘It’s a game, Frankie. Study your opponents; learn their weaknesses then pander to them. They’ll think you're a great guy and from then on you’ll be able to do exactly as you please. With humans, like all animals, it’s first impressions that are embedded in their brains and become virtually unshakeable, because no one likes to admit they’ve made an error of judgement.’

‘Yeah, makes sense I suppose. The trouble is I've always thought that if I didn’t tell them they were wrong then I was being as stupid as them.’

‘You think people will admire you if you know more, or are smarter than them?’

‘Well… yes.’

‘Frankie! Open your eyes. People hate everyone who is better than them. They help people and choose friends who make them feel good, not smart-arse pricks who make them feel inferior.’

‘But isn't it telling lies if you let them think they're good when they're useless?’

‘It’s diplomatic.’ ‘

‘But surely they know they're hopeless and if I tell them they're doing well they’ll just think I'm a crawler.’

‘Few people have an accurate assessment of their own worth, and research has shown there is no limit to the compliments people will willingly believe as long as they're given in a believable manner.’

‘No limit?’

‘None. Human capacity for self delusion is infinite.’

‘I can’t betray my values.’

‘You’d sooner betray your future prospects? All you have to do is listen as if you admire the speaker, ask him questions he can answer so he seems clever, then tell him you wish you knew as much or some such banality.’

‘But then they’ll never learn.’

‘If you think that matters, at a later date ask him what he thinks of your idea; presenting it as if you're worried he’ll think you're stupid. He’ll be so proud at having his opinion asked he’ll start to think for a change; possibly even come round to your opinion eventually, then start telling others as if it is his own idea. But! And it’s a big but, you have to be believable. If they think you're taking the Mickey, you're done for.’

Ok, I’ll give it a go. Thanks, Con.’

*****

‘Well? Are you going to stay at this school or will you get chucked out as usual?’ Ingenio asked after the first day.

‘It’s different from any school I've been to and I don’t want to make a rash judgement. Ask me at the end of the week when I've had time to make up my mind.’

After dinner on Friday they relaxed on the back verandah, wearing pullovers as it had turned cold, while Frankie gave them a run-down of his first week.

‘It’s a small school; there are only twenty-four students in Year Twelve. Five Australians of which I'm the only European, the others are kids of immigrants from the Middle East or Asia. The nineteen foreigners are on Student Visas. Ten from India, four from Malaya, two from the Philippines, one from Taiwan and two from China. They're all rich kids who arrive at school in limousines wearing the latest gear. They're pleasant, but—cautious is the word that springs to mind. I feel as if they're weighing me up more than I am them. Do you know they speak better English than most Australians?’

‘That wouldn’t be hard. And of course they're a bit suspicious as you joined the class halfway through term.’

‘Yeah, I suppose you're right. But isn't it odd that there are so many foreign students?’

‘That's how schools stay open now they aren't funded by the government. Instead of closing they advertise for fee-paying foreign students.’

‘But why do they come? The teachers are Ok but don’t seem any better than others I've had?’

‘Prestige, mainly. Their parents are wealthy so it’s another way of impressing their neighbours. Snob value… “My son is completing his education in Australia”. You can imagine the sort of thing. He’ll probably never need to use any of it; just go straight into the family business, but it looks good on his resumé.’

‘They're not dumb though. They seem sharper than most of the kids at my other schools. More awake, you know? Interested and wanting to know everything. They don’t let the teachers get away with anything. But they're very polite and well behaved. Unbelievable.’

‘Does that mean you like the place?’

‘Yeah! And it’s all thanks to you two. Inge for getting me up to scratch with the curriculum, and Con’s lessons in diplomacy. I can’t believe I haven't pissed anyone off yet—not even the teachers. But if its so expensive how can we afford it?’

‘We can’t.’

‘We don’t have to,’ Constantine said with a laugh. ‘I did a favour for the Principal.’

‘Must have been a big favour. Someone told me the fees are in the tens of thousands.’

‘It was an accident. One night at the police station while I was trying to get bail for a kid who’d been brought in on some piffling charge, I noticed a European boy bleeding and lying in his own vomit in the corridor. Every other kid was a shade of black so I investigated. He was unconscious. The cops said he was drunk and had no identification so after processing he’d be sent to the under-age lock up down by the docks. I couldn’t let that happen because not only did he look sick rather than drunk, but a white kid wouldn’t survive the night down there, so I took a closer look and discovered what looked like a phone number in ballpoint on the inside of his upper arm. I rang it and it was the principal of your school. His kid hadn't returned from sports practice and they were out of their minds with worry. The upshot is that if ever I need a favour that he can grant, I get it.’

‘That’s like a fairy tale.’

‘For the boy it was a nightmare—he’d been mugged, doped and raped. And it’s no fairytale for all the other young kids who’re dragged off the streets by racist cops and locked away before being abused and used and then cast back onto the streets.’

‘That is so terrible.’ Frankie was trying not to cry. ‘I didn’t realise what an easy life I've had.’

‘Yes, you have. The world is not a pleasant place for most people, but our miserable faces won’t help them,’ Ingenio said briskly. ‘What are you're favourite subjects?’

‘Drama and Philosophy. I’m auditioning for a play tomorrow. One of the Indian students in my class wrote it and he wants me and six others to act in it. It’ll be the final item in the school concert.’

‘What’s it about?’

‘Pretentious intellectuals who support their delusions of cultural superiority by ignoring reality.’

‘Heavy stuff.’

‘Only if you’re wading through textbook theory. In the play the audience see these people making idiots of themselves, and as Mr. Wing the drama teacher said, even if they don’t understand the philosophical concepts, there’s enough action to amuse them and make them think.’

‘It’s certainly true that dry theory with no real life examples puts people off thinking. So it’s funny?’

‘Funny-sad. The action takes place on the beachfront of a luxury hotel that’s just visible behind the palms. A pale naked body has apparently been washed up by the sea. Its presence is never explained. Eight elegantly dressed dark-skinned intellectuals wander in, arguing about the meaning of life. They trip over the body, then poke and prod, causing the creature to stagger to its feet, complaining in perfect English. They ignore his objections, restrain him, then continue poking, touching, and feeling until, like the Blind Indian Sages describing an elephant, they decide he is a primitive, pale, hairless ape. They are especially amused by what they call his nonsensical chattering.

‘The man becomes so angry he pushes them violently away. The women scream. The men overpower the savage beast, tie him to a palm and decide to properly describe this curiosity with a scientific paper. The females take notes, the barbaric creature’s mouth is forced open, teeth counted, ears inspected and skin examined for vermin. When someone wonders if the monster is suffering, he is informed that as it is not like them it will be unable to feel pain, fear, or any emotion ‘higher’ than the urge to eat, sleep and copulate. Consciences appeased, they embark on further painful and demeaning investigations, ignoring the man’s obvious illness and distress.

‘The humour derives from the prisoner’s counter of each fatuous observation and conclusion with a philosophically correct statement, accusing them of cognitive bias, irrationality, lack of evidence, wishful thinking, ambiguity, the backfire effect, belief bias, conjunction fallacy, empathy gap, false consensus… in other words they're using all the irrational arguments loved by politicians that we’ve been studying in philosophy class.

‘However, instead of applauding his erudition the intellectuals sneer at his gibberish, giving him a lesson in humility by placing a collar around his neck attached to a leash with which he’s led around on hands and knees like a pony, forced to give the ladies rides on his back, and submit to patting, stroking and being rolled onto his back for belly tickling before being harnessed to a cart so he can tow them around the stage.

‘Meanwhile the men discourse on the glory and wonder of the human mind and body compared to the degenerate, stupid creature they found. When he asks for clothes they don’t understand, so he mimes the request. They are shocked. What an insult to the nobility of civilized humanity! An ape imagining it should wear clothes! Tiring of him, they force him up a tree where he clings, ill and frightened while his superiors continue their pointless discussions; bragging about their humility, humanity, wisdom, generosity, and compassion. Evolution could now stop, they declare. With humans like them at the apex of all life, no further improvement is possible.

‘The man falls to the ground. They prod him with their toes, discover he’s dead and angrily blame each other for the loss of their plaything. The curtain falls on them punching, clawing and snarling at each other like the wild animals they despise.’

A brief silence followed Frankie’s summary of the plot.

‘It sounds extraordinarily good,’ Ingenio remarked softly. ‘How long is it?’

‘About forty minutes.’

‘Who wrote it?’

‘Sadu, one of the Indians. He’ll also direct us. The other Indians are the actors. None of the others in our class wanted to take part. It’s called Human Kind. I’ve got the script; you can read if you like.’

‘How about you read it to us?’

Frankie did, having to stop frequently so they could laugh at the wickedly funny exposé of pseudo intellectual ignorance, racial conceit and logical insanity.

Half an hour later they again sat in silence, thinking about it.

‘If it’s acted as well as you read it,’ Constantine said, ‘it’ll be a sell-out. You sounded as if it meant a lot to you.’

‘It brought back the horror of Tasmania, living with two crazy people who treated me as if I was an idiot slave.’

‘Poor boy.’

‘Not poor. It reinforced your suggestion that I remember the whole truth about that time, not only the good bits. Otherwise I’d be like the people in the play’

‘You're very wise, tonight,’ Ingenio smiled. ‘I agree with Constantine that it’ll be a success and look forward to seeing it.’

‘Great, I’ll tell Sadu. He’s getting nervous now the Principal wants to invite the public to all performances. He's even working on a deal with a mid-city theatre.’

‘At least your costume will be cheap.’

‘You don’t mind your nephew appearing naked in public?’

‘I’ll be the proudest uncle in the land.’

‘Thanks.’

‘So,’ Con asked. ‘Do you approve of the Principal?’

‘He’s a great guy. When he came and told us he wanted our play as the main attraction for the concert, I thanked him for letting me come to his school. But he thanked me; said the reason no Australian whites came to the school was because of racism, so I was proof that not all whites are racist.’

Con laughed. ‘Frankie, I'm so glad you're living with us.’

‘I’m even more glad, but I keep wondering why I am like I am. You know, a bit mad, interested in everything, exhibitionist, pig-headed. Yet my father was dull and boring and predictable. Why aren't I anything like him?’

Ingenio and Constantine looked at each other, pulled wry faces and nodded.

‘Because he wasn’t your father,’ Ingenio said softly.

Frankie let out a huge sigh. ‘Thank goodness! I've been terrified I’d turn into him one day. Who is?’

‘There’s a bit of a story about that, so bear with me,’ Ingenio said nervously. ‘Your grandparents treated your mother and me in a similar way to the way they treated you in Tasmania. Virtue was a prisoner outside school hours and I was her jailer. Naturally, being older she was jealous of my relative freedom. Spending so much time together, we had no secrets from each other. I was twelve when I told her Con and I were fucking each other and she was so jealous she demanded I let her experience it too…’ he paused to see the reaction, but Frankie was giving nothing away. ‘The upshot was that Virtue was exactly your age when she gave birth to you.’

‘You don’t mean…?’ Frankie looked from one to the other then roared with laughter. ‘You do! I’m the product of an incestuous fuck between a fifteen year-old girl and her twelve-year-old brother. I love it! You're both my father and my uncle—being my mother’s brother. But… shouldn’t I be demented? In-breeding and all that?’

‘I’m pleased you find it amusing. You're not half-witted because you're the product of line breeding.’

‘What's that?’

‘When breeders want to improve their stock they take the best and healthiest son, over mother; or father over daughter, or son over sister to preserve all the qualities they want such as colour, size, and health. That’s what we did. You're the brilliant product of a wunderkind boy and his street-smart, self-willed, sex-crazed sister. It’s only when two dumb siblings copulate that their kids turn out dumb and demented.’

‘Inge, you’ve made my day. I couldn’t ask for a more illustrious lineage. But I'm jealous, I’m four years older than you were and still a virgin—regarding females.’

‘But not males, I gather.’

‘Only a couple of times before I was shanghaied to Tasmania.’

‘Is there no one at school?’

‘Well… Sadu’s been swapping secret smiles and the occasional touch, but it’s a serious crime in India now, so he’s too worried to do anything.’

‘Invite him for a sleepover whenever you like, don’t you reckon, Con?’

‘The sooner the better.’

‘You two are the best parents a guy could want. By the way, Inge, do you want me to start calling you daddy?’

‘Never! If the authorities knew our dread secret they’d never let me adopt you. So it’s uncle or Inge.’