Little boy lost

by NancyMay

A little boy is neglected by his mother. He finds that there are kind people in Ballarat.

"Late again, Ross?" the head-teacher clipped the boy over the back his head and pushed him towards the classroom. "What's your excuse this time?"

"Overslept, sir," Lachlan Ross ducked to avoid the chastisement.

"Time you got an alarm clock, boy," he pushed the door open, "fifty lines – I must get up in time for school – do 'em over play time."

"Yes sir," the boy sighed.

Whatever Lachlan's other shortcomings, loyalty was not one of them, if his mother told him to say he overslept he did, even though it was her that couldn't get up to see him ready for school on time. So he obediently said he had overslept, did the lines and worked as hard as he could in school.

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"Sit down, Ross," his teacher snapped, "I heard you the first time."

Lachlan sat down again and frowned, all Miss had to say was 'yes, Lachlan, do that', and he wouldn't have repeated himself, it would be nice if someone listened to him, just once.

He did the lines over playtime and left the page on the head master's desk.

Lunchtime was slightly better. He had no sandwiches with him, nor did he have the money to pay for a school lunch so he tried to avoid going into the dining hall.

"Lachlan?" one of the ladies that supervised lunchtime found him outside sitting on the wall kicking his feet. "Have you eaten already?"

He shrugged.

"No packed lunch?"

He shook his head.

"Here," she dug into her apron pocket, "go and get your dinner," she passed him some coins, "you can't learn on an empty stomach."

"Miss," he sniffed, this lady was probably the kindest one in school, "I can't pay you back."

"When you are king of the world Lachlan that will be payment enough for me." She ruffled his untidy hair and sent him off to eat. Watching him run off she wondered on his home life. He was always scruffy, sometimes unwashed and she had lost count of the times she had given him the money for his lunch and no matter how many times she told the teachers she had worries about his home life nothing seemed to happen.

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"Lachlan Ross was late again," the head-master sighed in the staff room, "ring his mother, ask her to come in, will you," he turned to his secretary.

"She won't answer, she never does." She huffed.

"Write a letter, send it home with the boy," he shrugged, "anybody know her?"

"Rarely appears for parent's evenings," his teacher mused, "or when letters are sent home. Never sends a reply."

"I'll call in Family Welfare," he stirred his tea and stared out across the playground. "Where does he get the money for school dinners from, I mean if she doesn't answer calls or letters I can't see her giving him the cash?"

"I have a sneaking suspicion one of the supervisors hands him enough," another teacher had seen the exchange one day but hadn't thought it was worth mentioning, it was up to her how she spent her money.

"Not her place."

"No, but her money."

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The house was clean and tidy, when Family Welfare called. Sparsely furnished but clean. There was food in the cupboards, nothing special and not much, but Mrs Ross said she was going to do some shopping that day. Lachlan's room had a bed in it, a closet with some clothes, a book on the night stand and a broken alarm clock. Mrs Ross herself was rather too well made up, in the visitor's opinion, for the early afternoon and when she had opened the door she had been hastily buttoning her blouse – a flouncy, brightly coloured garment over a tight black skirt.

"Lachlan seems to be late for school rather a lot," the visitor observed.

"Little scamp," his mother laughed, "must get distracted on his way, I'll remind him to go straight there."

As nothing seemed too much out of order Family Welfare just suggested maybe she get him another alarm clock and left.

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For Lachlan nothing much changed, his mother told him he was not to be late for school so he rose with the sun and was often too early, sitting on the ground at the gates when the teachers arrived. The secretary took pity on him and made him a piece of toast when he wasn't munching on an apple. On the days he wasn't too early, he was late and caught a clip from the head-master. He did his lessons, played with his friends, repeated himself until someone acknowledged him and went home. The head-master told the cook to give him a dinner even if he had no money on him and wondered if they could set up a school fund for children in a similar position from families that struggled. Not that Family Welfare thought there was a lack of money in the Ross household from the way Mrs Ross was made up and dressed, just a lack of thought.

At home he fed himself from whatever he found in the kitchen, a sandwich, a chicken leg left over from a meal, fruit from trees that overhung the paths on his way home. It was this fruit, a peach, off a particular tree, from a particular garden that was to change his life.

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He passed this house daily, not too big but in his eyes quite grand, a lovely garden with a nice car parked on the drive. Trees lined the edge of the property, apple trees, magnolias, peaches all dangling their fruit enticingly over the wall.

"Caught you!" a woman grabbed his arms as he climbed the wall to reach a beautiful ripe peach.

"Ow!" he screamed, "Missus, I'm sorry!" he bit his lip, "I won't do it again!"

"A likely story," she huffed, "so why did you do it this time?" She frowned down at him.

"Erm," he sniffed, "I'm hungry."

"Didn't you have lunch today?"

Lachlan nodded, "but no puddin'"

"Do you take fruit from my trees often?"

He hung his head, he was for it now, stealing was a crime, he knew that and the Police Superintendant was known to be tough.

"Please don't tell, Missus," he whispered, "I won't do it again, I promise."

"What's your name?"

"Lachlan Ross."

"Well, Lachlan Ross," she folded her arms, "how about you come and help me weed this border and I'll pay you with that peach?"

"Really?" he eyes widened with surprise. "You'd do that?"

"Well, you're doing something for me," she beckoned him over the wall, "but come in by the gate next time."

"Sure thing, Missus."

"Mrs Tyneman," she smiled.

"Sure thing, Mrs Tyneman," he grinned.

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Susan Tyneman was lonely, even she would admit that, no Patrick and no Edward, both dead. Ballarat had changed, or her idea of it had; she had moved out of the huge mansion she had lived in all her married life and settled in a smaller but still lovely house, given up drinking to excess and taken up gardening and in spite of everything she supposed she was content. She still saw many of the ladies she had lunched with in times gone by but now she would pass the time of day with Jean Blake out on council business and it was her that had suggested she put her energies into the garden.

"I found I could take out all my frustrations on the garden when Lucien did something rash, and now that he is missing I can take out my pain there." She had told her when asked how she coped alone.

So she had tried it and after tearing up weeds in one unloved part of her new garden and seeing clean earth and the dead branches and stalks removed she saw what she meant. It was cathartic, and so now she could be found in the garden most days, just employing someone to keep the lawns tidy. Now she had a little friend, perhaps a little project. Her daughter in law had lied when she said she was pregnant and had left Ballarat and Susan and any ties to the Tyneman family, so she was alone.

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"You'd best get home, Lachlan," Mrs Tyneman looked at her watch, "your mother will want you home for dinner."

Lachlan shrugged, "I guess so," he finished planting an azalea and wiped his hands on his trousers.

"You've been very helpful, Lachlan," she smiled, "so, which fruit is it to be today?"

"Um," he looked over at the fruit trees, "how about an apple?"

"Go and shin up the tree then," she smiled, "and while you're at it bring some down for me."

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Lachlan didn't appear one day, which surprised Susan Tyneman; she looked down the road at the time he would be passing on his way home from school but he didn't come kicking a stone along the path, hands in pockets whistling out of tune as he so often did. He was entitled to have a cold or childhood ailment that kept him from school so she didn't worry too much, and not knowing where he lived she couldn't go and enquire on his health. However, after a few days of his not showing she became worried and decided that the school may be able to help her.

"Apparently his mother has taken him to Bendigo for the week," the head-master sniffed, "even though I told her I did not think it a good idea as it is only a week until the official term break."

"I see, well, I just wondered," Susan smiled, "Lachlan sometimes does a little weeding for me, in exchange for some fruit off the trees."

"I see," he hummed, but he didn't. Why would someone like Susan Tyneman take an interest in a little rapscallion like Lachlan Ross?

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Lachlan slumped against a tree in a public park and wondered what his mother and her gentleman friend were up to. They'd dragged him off to Bendigo, a little holiday, they said, but he never saw them and they never took him anywhere. They were staying in a caravan, he was sleeping in the awning attached, and all he got was a few coppers to see him through the day, buy his food and use to entertain himself. He wondered if Mrs Tyneman was missing him; they were supposed to be planting up round a fountain in the back garden of her house that week. He ambled around the town and found himself at the bus station.

"How much to Ballarat, mister?" he asked the man behind the counter.

"For you?"

Lachlan nodded, hoping he didn't ask too many questions.

The price was more than he had in his hand but if he saved that and the money his mum would give him tomorrow he would be able to afford the fare and get back to school. He knew where his mum left the spare key if she wasn't home and he might be able to help Mrs Tyneman get the fountain planted up.

"Thanks, mister," he ran off formulating his plan. He could leave a note for his mum, so she wouldn't worry.

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"I'm sorry, Jean, I just wasn't sure who to talk to about him," Susan sat in Jean Blake's living room discussing Lachlan and why he was in Bendigo during the school term.

While she was surprised that Susan Tyneman would take an interest in an apparently neglected child she agreed something should be done and prior to meeting her she had spoken to Family Welfare about him.

"Welfare say the house is clean and tidy, there is food and he has a room for himself. The mother is a single woman, possibly a widow, nobody knows for sure, well dressed ... actually overdressed the visitor noted, but there was no indication he is neglected. School say they feed him for free because he never has a packed lunch with him. Attendance is good but he is either very early or late, never on time, and scruffy."

"I just don't think his mother has time for him, Jean," Susan sighed, "I wasn't the best mother but I did ensure Edward was clean and fed and attended school. I know he ended up at boarding school in Melbourne for a time but I looked after him during the school holidays and always knew where he was – until he was too old for me to chase round that is. I don't think Lachlan's mother knows from early morning to evening where her boy is, except at school. I'm sure she doesn't know he spends so much time with me in the garden. He's a sweet boy, helpful and kind."

"Leave it with me, Susan," Jean made a note in her file, "I'll see if Welfare will do another visit, maybe engage a social worker, but keep on doing what you're doing for him, it sounds like you give him more than he gets at home."

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The packet of biscuits Lachlan had bought was just enough to see him along the journey by bus to Ballarat. He'd dutifully left a note for his mother on his pillow in the awning of the caravan and gone to catch the bus home. He was bored, his mother wasn't doing any fun things with him she and her friend were never in the caravan when he got back from wandering around the town so he thought he may as well go back to Ballarat and school.

He lifted the plant pot at the front door and let himself into the house. The milk had gone stale in the fridge, the bread that was in the bread bin was as hard as a rock, the best he could do was open a tin of baked beans and heat them on the stove. He cut his finger on the tin, burnt his hand on the pan but at least he had something to eat.

He slept in his clothes, got up and went to school.

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"I thought you were in Bendigo for the week, Ross," the head-master observed as he saw him sitting by the school gates.

"Came back early, sir," Lachlan shrugged.

His day went from bad to worse. His finger throbbed from the cut that he hadn't cleaned properly, he got into trouble for repeating himself in class, fell over during cricket and grazed his knee and nobody would play with him because his clothes were creased and grubby. He was glad to be on his way home, passing Mrs Tyneman's house.

"Lachlan!" her voice broke through his thoughts as he passed the gate.

"Hullo, Mrs Tyneman," he sighed.

"Come here," she pointed to the spot in front of her, "let me look at you."

He dutifully sloped over to her, all he wanted to do was to go home and sleep, he wasn't feeling too well.

She squatted down in front of him and put her finger under his chin, "Are you alright?" she frowned, his eyes were full of tears, she had never known him to cry. He shook his head slowly.

"Come inside," she stood up and put her hand on his shoulder, "let's have a proper look at you."

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Inside she took him to the kitchen and cleaned his grazed knee, wiped his face and hands and saw the inflamed cut on his finger. She put her hand to his forehead, he felt a bit too warm.

"Did your mother not clean this cut properly?"

He sniffed, "She's still in Bendigo, don't tell anyone Mrs Tyneman, they'll put me in a home ..."

"No they won't, I won't let them, Lachlan. Now, we need to get this cut seen to and I know just the person to do it."

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"That's as much as I can tell you, Alice," Jean pushed open Lucien's surgery door. "I think there's everything you need to treat the little chap. Susan doesn't want him to go to a children's home, she seems rather fond of him."

"Not something I associate with Mrs Tyneman," Alice Harvey hummed and lifted the dust sheet from the desk. "But if she's willing to care for him maybe it will do them both good."

"My thoughts exactly. Can I do anything?"

"It needs a quick flick round with the duster," Alice wiped the ledge in front of the medicine cabinet with her finger "and a new file, please."

By the time Susan and Lachlan arrived the surgery was just as it would have been if Lucien were still there. Jean bit her lip and wondered if it could be used again, another surgery was just what Ballarat needed.

Alice cleaned and dressed the finger asking how he had done it and tutting when he admitted he had tried to open a bean can. "You didn't clean it enough, boy," she said softly, "but it should be alright now, I'll have to give you an injection for the infection and that will make you feel better in a couple of days." She pulled the waistband of his trousers down just enough to quickly inject the antibiotic which he objected to with a shriek.

"Sorry, son," she rubbed the wipe over it, "all done now."

"Redress it, Mrs Tyneman, each day and keep an eye out for any muck coming from it. Keep it dry, too." She turned his hand over and spotted the burn blister. "Hot pan?"

He nodded.

"Well, it'll be a bit sore for a few days so mind you don't knock it, and don't pick at the skin," she covered it with a dry dressing and patted his cheek. Jean never considered how Alice would be around children, but it seemed she was a bit of a softy.

"Thanks, doctor," he whispered, he didn't know ladies could be doctors, he'd come and see this one if he ever got in strife again.

"Thank you, Dr Harvey, Mrs Blake," Susan smiled, "send me the bill."

"No charge, Susan," Jean smiled.

"Too kind." She stood up and took Lachlan by the hand, "come on lad, some dinner I think and a bath."

"Gotta keep my hand dry, Mrs Tyneman," he reminded her.

"Here," Alice passed over some surgical gloves, "a bit of tape round the wrist and you'll be as right as nine-pence."

Susan stowed them in her handbag and the two left watched by the doctor and the council woman.

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"What are you thinking?" Jean closed the door and looked at Alice who had a faraway look in her eye.

"That he is neglected, that the best thing that ever happened to him is Susan Tyneman and that's something I thought I'd never say."

"As a doctor what would your recommendations be?"

"That he is fostered by someone who cares, aka Susan, that his mother is prosecuted for neglect and that Welfare get their act together and start looking out for these children." Alice huffed. "You, Councilwoman Blake?"

"Pretty much as you say," Jean headed down to the kitchen, "let's have a cuppa and see what we can do about it, eh?"

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"This is it, Mrs Tyneman," Lachlan pointed to his house. "I've got my key."

"Is your mother not back from Bendigo?" Susan watched him unlock the door and step aside to let her in.

"No car, so I guess not," he shook his head. They had driven to Bendigo in his mother's friend's car and it wasn't anywhere to be seen so he assumed that they hadn't returned. "I left a note so she knows where I went."

Susan thought he was quite a capable little boy and was not surprised to see he had washed up his pots from the previous night and thrown out the milk and bread that had spoiled.

"Let's get some of your clothes," she smiled, "you can stay with me until she comes back."

Upstairs Lachlan took out some clothes from his room while Susan headed to the bathroom to find his toothbrush. It wasn't the cleanest of rooms and when she surreptitiously pushed open the door of his mother's room she noticed the stale smell of sweat, perfume and sex. The bedroom was fussy, with bright satin cushions over the bed which was made up with a black satin eiderdown and black frilled satin pillows.

"Got everything, Mrs Tyneman," he appeared beside her with an armful of clothes.

"Pyjamas?"

"Ah ha," he nodded.

She took them off him and they headed back down the stairs where he locked the door before climbing into her car and driving off.

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He arrived at school the following day, on time, smartly dressed and with a packed lunch. He also presented a letter to the headmaster from Mrs Tyneman asking that they make sure he kept his injured hand dry but otherwise he was to do all the things he should do.

The headmaster raised an eyebrow, "Mrs Tyneman, what's she to you, boy?"

"A friend," Lachlan stated, "I'm stayin' with her for a few days." He wasn't sure how long he was staying but Mrs Tyneman had said he could stay until she saw his mother. What she hadn't said was she was going to give her a piece of her mind before she allowed him to go back and live with her.

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"He'll be fine," Mrs Ross waved away her friend's minor concerns about her son running back to Ballarat.

"S'not him I'm worried about, you daft tart," he sneered, "what if he tells we're still away?"

"He won't, he knows better," she headed into the caravan and gave a little wiggle showing the lack of underwear. He quickly forgot all about a little boy who they should have been caring for and followed her, grabbing her and making her squeak.

They had spent most of their time either having sex or drinking. They had only taken Lachlan with them so they wouldn't have to explain to him why they were leaving him at home to look after himself. Even after the first visit from Welfare it never occurred to Lachlan's mother that she was now on their radar. Susan was right when she surmised she never bothered about where he was when he didn't come directly home from school every day, or where he went during the holidays.

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Family Welfare visited the Ross house every day after Jean had alerted them to Lachlan's adventures. They knew Mrs Tyneman, she sat on the board, so they weren't about to try and take the boy from her. Mrs Blake had told them Susan was taking good care of the boy, seeing he was well fed, properly dressed for school, washed and the cut on his hand was healing nicely.

Mrs Ross and her friend did not arrive home when expected, in fact after three days Superintendant Lawson was called in on the case.

He contacted Bendigo police and asked if they had come across a man and a woman staying in a caravan where Lachlan had told Susan they should be. He described the man and the woman, the car and the caravan, but there was no record of them, no sightings and they hadn't been arrested. He called the stations en route until he found them.

"Caught, in flagrante whatsit," the sergeant he spoke to grumbled, "there, in the bandstand in the park, broad bloody daylight. People these days," he huffed.

It had been a warm day, they had stopped in Castlemaine on the way back and taken a stroll in the park and found the band stand, an ornate Victorian structure. He had laid his coat down on the floor, peered over the side and deeming it quiet and them to be unobserved pushed her skirt up over her hips and opened her blouse. Lost in their own perverted world, she pushed his trousers down and he proceeded to pound into her as she grabbed his backside and grunted with his rhythm.

He bent over her and whispered filthy language into her ear as she climaxed with a scream.

"Oh my goodness!" a voice shouted "call the police!"

"Officer! Officer!" someone else shouted to a police officer on patrol.

The man slipped out of Mrs Ross and knelt up, everything on show. The woman who had caught them stood open mouthed at the sight and a police officer appeared at her side.

"Bloody hell!" he apologised to the woman and stood in front of her to block her view, "you dirty buggers." He reached for his handcuffs and slapped them on both of them, keeping them together was his only option. "Cover yourselves up, you disgusting perverts," he snarled.

One handed they closed buttons and pulled trousers up and skirts down; they were escorted to the police station to be charged and locked up in the cells until they could decide what to do with them.

And that was the story Matthew got from the sergeant at Castlemaine station. He didn't know how he was going to tell Jean and Susan, let alone Family Welfare that Lachlan's mother and her 'friend' had been caught in flagrante delicto in the bandstand in Castlemaine in 'broad bloody daylight'.

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"You're joking?!" Alice gasped.

Jean just held her hand over her mouth in shock.

"I jest not, dear Dr Alice," he folded his arms, "statements from the two ladies who caught them, even able to identify a tattoo on his upper thigh, and the copper who took 'em in is still in shock. She's not going to get Lachlan back."

"He's safe," Jean finally spoke, "Susan will take care of him, she's rather fond of him for some reason."

"Could be loneliness, and wanting to make a better go of motherhood than she did with Edward," Matthew mused.

"That was more Patrick I think," Jean hummed, "especially when he got older. Susan has the financial means to take on a child, she has the room and they have bonded over gardening. I will suggest to FW that they give her a chance at fostering him. More change won't do the boy any good."

"And how are you going to tell him that his mother has been arrested on a charge of an affront to public decency?" Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure," Jean admitted, "but that is the job of the police, isn't it Matthew?" she raised her eyebrow in challenge. He rolled his eyes and grumbled.

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Matthew sat in Susan Tyneman's living room. It was smaller than the one in the house she had shared with Patrick for so many years, but it was warm and comfortable and less imposing. He stood as she entered with Lachlan in tow, fresh from his school day munching on his customary fruit snack.

"Lachlan," she pulled him forward, "this is Superintendant Lawson, he's a police officer."

Lachlan gulped and went pale.

"You have done nothing wrong, Lachlan," Matthew sought to assure the boy, "in fact you have been quite brave and resourceful getting yourself back from Bendigo on your own."

"Sit down, dear," Susan gently brought him to the couch and sat him down with her. Matthew had told her what had happened and she had taken a few minutes to regain her composure before she brought Lachlan to him. He sat next to her, finding comfort in holding her hand.

"Lachlan," Matthew sighed, "it's about your mother and her gentleman friend."

"Are they dead, sir?"

"No lad, but they have done something they shouldn't have. They are in the police station in Castlemaine and will have to go to court. Chances are they will go to prison for a short time," he rubbed his knee, "I'm sorry lad, your mum won't be looking after you, not for a long time."

"Will I have to go to a children's home, I don't want to," Lachlan's bottom lip trembled.

"No, Lachlan, Mr Lawson has arranged with Welfare that you stay here, with me, if that's alright with you," Susan smiled. "You will go to school as usual, with a packed lunch if you want, we can still do the garden and I will help you with you school work, if you want me to."

"What did they do?"

"Erm," Matthew cleared his throat, "it's called outraging public decency, doing things in the open, outside where people could see, that they should do in private."

Lachlan screwed his face up, it sounded rude, whatever they did. He was probably safe from anything like that with Mrs Tyneman, she didn't seem to have a gentleman friend, just a man who did things like cooking and running the house for her, Mr John his name was and he was kind and told good stories.

"I think I'd like to stay with Mrs Tyneman," he whispered.

"I think that's a very wise decision, Lachlan," Matthew smiled, "I've known Mrs Tyneman for a long time, you will be safe with her."

"Kind of you to say so, Superintendant," Susan smiled, "do I expect a visit from Welfare."

"A mere formality, Mrs Tyneman," he nodded his head, "I believe Councilwoman Blake and Dr Harvey have had something to do with it."

Susan saw Matthew out; at the door she stopped him and smiled. "Dr Harvey?"

"What about her?" he swallowed.

"She's a kind woman," she smiled softly, "do something about it."

"Er, I don't know what you mean, Mrs Tyneman," he hissed.

"Of course you do," she let him leave, blushing all the way down the drive.

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In time Lachlan got used to being with Susan all the time. He got used to having a regular bath, food at regular intervals that was tasty and interesting, new tastes and textures, clean clothes and new ones as he grew out of the ones he had brought with him from his house. She suggested he might like to call her 'Aunt Susan', it was entirely up to him, but he tried it and liked the warm and safe feeling it gave him. He continued to help in the garden finding it almost as cathartic as Susan did and she told him all about her late husband, Patrick and the son who had been murdered. Lachlan gave her an extra tight hug that night, by way of saying how sorry he was that she had suffered such upsets. Mr John let him help in the kitchen, showed him how to prepare the vegetables they had started to grow in a corner patch in the back garden. Lachlan was happy.

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Above acknowledging that she understood Lachlan was being fostered out, Mrs Ross asked no more questions about her son. She and her 'friend' were sentenced to six months in prison and told it was unlikely she would be allowed to raise her son when she was released.

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"A remarkable turn-around in young Lachlan, Mrs Tyneman," the head teacher noted at a parent's evening, "the only thing we would note is his habit of repeating himself when talking to a teacher."

"Try answering him the first time," she huffed, "he spent so long not being noticed that he has to be sure he is heard."

"Ah, hm," he nodded, "with so many children in the class he should just get on with his work."

"And he will, with a little consideration for his confidence; he just needs to know that what he is about to do is the right thing." She looked at him and waited.

"I'll pass on your er, um, recommendations to his teacher."

"Good." She nodded, "well, if that's all, we have to see to the apple tree."

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It had been a year since that fateful day Lachlan had been caught pinching fruit from Susan Tyneman's tree. In that year she had given him a better life and he had given her a life. She was happier than she had been in years, Lachlan gave her a reason to get up each day, she in turn gave him a reason to work hard in school and stay out of trouble.

His mother called, arrived unexpectedly at the house after school one day.

Mr John looked her up and down and enquired of her business with Master Lachlan.

"He's my son," she tipped her nose in the air, "I want to see him." She tried to see into the hallway which he effectively blocked.

Mr John asked her to wait where she was, on the doorstep, and he would go and see if his mistress was available.

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"Oh," Susan and Lachlan looked up from the history book he was studying, "Lachlan?"

"It would be rude not to speak to her, Aunt Susan," he frowned, "but can you come with me?"

"Of course, dear, we'll come back to the Tudors in a minute, shall we?"

He nodded and slipped off his seat, waiting for her to follow him.

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Outside Mrs Ross waited tapping her fingers against her handbag. She had, she thought, dressed in her best outfit: a tight fitting black skirt with a split at the back, a black blouse with frills and a bright floral pattern, high black stiletto shoes, fully made up with a slash of red lipstick and extended black eyeliner and eye shadow a la Elizabeth Taylor in 'Cleopatra', though not as expertly applied. She turned as the door opened again to reveal her son dressed in a pair of pressed blue shorts, blue striped polo shirt, clean socks and shiny black shoes. His hair had been neatly cut and was just a little mussed from him running his hands through it as he studied. He was taller and cleaner than she remembered. The woman beside him was neatly dressed in a pale blue twinset and matching darker blue checked A line skirt.

"Lachlan, love," Mrs Ross held out her arms for him.

"Mum," he didn't move closer to her, he looked up at Susan for surety and she put her hand on his shoulder.

"Can we help you, Mrs Ross?" Susan asked pleasantly.

"I want to see my son," she huffed back and straightened when she realised Lachlan was not about to run into her arms.

"Here he is," Susan nodded down to him, "well, as you can see."

"Son ..." Mrs Ross looked down at him again.

"I'm ok, mum," he gulped, "doin' good at school, keepin' outta trouble."

"This woman," she pointed at Susan.

"Aunt Susan is very kind to me," he took a tiny step closer to Susan, "and Mr John."

"Are you happy, son?"

"Yes, thank you, very happy," he nodded definitively.

"Well, that's ok, then." She cleared her throat, "best be off, things to do." She wiggled uncertainly down the gravel drive watched by Susan and her son.

Lachlan frowned, he looked at her then at Susan then back at his mother; putting them side by side he decided that he'd got the better deal staying with Aunt Susan, his mother didn't look 'motherly' and she hadn't exactly fought for him.

"Lachlan?" Susan squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm ok, Aunt Susan," he slipped his arm round her, "really."

"Any time you want to talk, about anything, I'm listening."

"Yeah, I know."

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Years rolled by, Lachlan's mother was not seen again though she would occasionally watch him from afar, passing through Ballarat with a gentleman friend. He continued to thrive at school, grew tall, studied hard and on his eighteenth birthday celebrated with his friends at a party Susan threw for him.

On her sixtieth he presented her with a card, a bouquet of flowers cut from the garden and arranged by him and a little silver heart on a chain that he had saved his earnings from the ironmonger's Saturday job he had, for.

She kissed his cheek and opened the card:

"To mum, with love from your son, Lachlan Tyneman." Inside the card was the certificate from the registrar's office that showed he had changed his name to hers.

"Oh Lachlan," she hugged him, "you didn't have to do that, but I am so proud of you, and will be even more proud to call you my son."

"Well, you've been more of a mother to me than you know who," he grinned as that was how they referred to his natural parent.

Susan had loved Patrick in spite of his philandering ways and bullying tactics, she had loved Edward in spite of his demanding and high and mighty attitude but Lachlan filled her heart with more love than either man had ever done.

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"You were right, Alice," Jean watched the two walking in the gardens one day, "it did do them both good."

"She did me a favour too, you know?"

"Really?"

"Ah ha, told Matthew to 'do something about me', apparently."

"Fancy Susan Tyneman giving relationship advice," Jean laughed, "well, time to go and get the dinner on, you two dining with us tonight?"

"Unless you've thrown us out," Alice grinned. After Lucien had returned from the secret mission he never spoke about, the four of them had lived in the house together, not in perfect harmony perhaps, but the odd bum note did not harm their deep and abiding friendship.

Ballarat may change but some friendships never do.