So, here we come to the end of this story, thank you for reading and apologies for the delay in writing this - the hardest of chapers of this particular story.

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After the injuries Amelia and Elizabeth had suffered Jean tried to walk them home each day and William seemed to dawdle less when they were waiting. After about a month Lucien and Alice decided that there was no long term physical damage and in time they would be back to their trouble making selves.

"Though they are more likely to stay home these days," Alice sighed, "not go off to play round the lakes or in trees."

"They got a fright, Alice," he smiled, "but they came out ok."

"We were lucky."

"I think we've been very lucky these past ten years, haven't we?"

She smiled and twisted her wedding ring, "incredibly lucky."

"You doin' anything special for your anniversary?"

"I don't know; you know how Matthew is, an old romantic."

"Jean says he's not the only one," he laughed.

"Anyway, we've had an invitation to Founder's Day at Dustin's school and it falls the same weekend."

"You are going, aren't you, Jean and I are, with our two."

"Of course, have you sorted out somewhere to stay, Ruth is going to be there, it will be quite the family outing, won't it."

"Not yet, we'd better get it sorted soon or all places will be taken."

"I vote Jean to get us organised," Alice laughed, "we stand a chance of getting somewhere together, then."

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"Already sorted," Jean continued preparing vegetables for dinner, "Ruth phoned to say Dustin had invited her, and if we were all going then we should try and find somewhere that could accommodate all of us. I volunteered."

"You're wonderful," Lucien bent down and kissed her firmly on the lips.

She just smiled, "we have a room for Ruth, one for Elizabeth and Amelia, Alice and Matthew have their own room and we have one. One for William and Dustin, I thought we could bring Dustin back with us for Christmas after the weekend. I even got a discount for a block booking."

"Incredible," he sat down and pinched a slice of carrot, "is Ruth joining us for Christmas this time?"

Jean nodded, there was something she hadn't told him, not sure if it could be managed. Earlier, just before the girls had been attacked Christopher had been involved in mine clearing and been injured. She felt he had played down his injuries, shrapnel to his left side had damaged his arm and face.

"... I was lucky, mum," he wrote from his hospital bed, "I lost men that day. I'm hoping to come home to recuperate as soon as they'll let me, but it could be some time."

He'd wrote again saying that despite his efforts he wouldn't make Founder's Day; he'd thought at first they would let him out for the weekend, and it was this that made Jean think his injuries were far worse than he made out. She had talked to Lucien and he had tried to find out more. He'd had to pull strings, call people he remembered from his days in the army and found that Christopher had lost his left arm, had reduced sight in the left eye and lost his hearing on that side.

"Something else?" Lucien watched her think.

"Christopher," she put down her knife, "I want him to come home for Christmas, but after what you said about his injuries I wonder if they'll let him."

"Let me see what I can do," he squeezed her hand, "he'd have a veteran and two doctors on hand ..."

"Thank you, Lucien," She smiled, "he won't want to be coddled but with those injuries I don't have a clue as to his mental state. He hides in his letters, just says how well he is doing and how sorry he is he can't make Founder's Day but I wonder if he doesn't want to come, and of course Dustin doesn't know the extent – I want to talk to him myself, perhaps with you?"

"A most sensible idea, Jean," he agreed, "putting his father's condition in a letter would be cruel, it is essential Dustin is supported in understanding how his father feels and how his injuries will impact his life. They will give him an honourable discharge on medical grounds and he will probably not know what he is to do with himself now."

"Farming and soldiering is all he's ever known," she hummed.

"Of course, I understand," he put his arm around her, "it's a lonely place, being out of the army because of something you couldn't control – believe me, I know."

"Perhaps you will be the best person to help him heal, explain to him how you felt ..."

"Angry, useless, scared, all he needs in the patience and love of a good woman," he grinned, "thank you for healing me."

"It has been my pleasure," she leant on his shoulder, "in more ways than one."

"Hm," he dropped a tender kiss on the top of her head, "care to show me one of those ways?"

"Behave, the children are due in from school, and Alice is in the surgery."

"Maybe later, eh?"

"Perhaps," she teased.

"Right," he stood up and tugged his waistcoat down, "in that case I shall walk up to meet the children, shall I?"

"I'm sure that will be lovely."

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Christopher stood looking as best he could, at himself in the mirror. His wounds were slow to heal and still painful as well as difficult to look at. His mother was right when she surmised he was hiding, not willing to present himself in public, most of all not in front of his son. He didn't want to see the shocked looks on peoples' faces, the pity, see them turn away when they realised they were staring or, worst of all, the disgust they felt. He had seen it before, had defended comrades when they were turned away from shops and when people stepped away from them in the street, he couldn't stand for it to happen to him. He didn't know Lucien had found out the truth and told his mother and would be horrified that she knew the real extent of his injuries.

Now he was back at the rehabilitation centre in Adelaide and would soon transfer to Melbourne for assessment. He had already received his discharge together with a medal for gallantry but he needed to find something to do. He couldn't grow things again, he needed two hands for that, he couldn't teach, though it had been suggested, he's frighten the children; the only thing he had discovered a love of during his time in the army was reading, books – any kind of books – but he didn't fancy working in a library. He had a son to raise and that meant he had to earn a living.

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Founder's Day was busy, hectic with activities and the chance to meet the parents of the boys Jean made gifts for and to have a longer chat with Richard's aunt. They watched the juniors play cricket and rugby, the whole school choir sang and there was a chance to speak to Dustin's teachers – find out how he was doing with his studies and, more importantly for Jean how he was doing socially.

"Well, he was struggling at first, then after he made contact with you and Mrs Amory he seemed to come out of his shell. Before that he was a lonely little lad ..." one teacher smiled, "and it's not just him; his dorm are quite a little group – something about biscuits?" he raised an eyebrow and Jean blushed.

"Well, they were so appreciative of his birthday cake it seemed only right they have a little gift," she smiled.

"Does young Richard good," he drew them aside, "lost his parents in a fire about the same time Dustin's mother passed, kindred spirits."

"He seems a nice child, well brought up and we have met his aunt a couple of times," Lucien agreed. "My wife wondered if we might invite him to stay for part of a holiday next year. We plan to discuss it with Miss Johnson."

"Capital idea," he agreed.

"We are hoping Dustin's father can join us for Christmas this year, and need to speak to Dustin about the injuries he has received ..."

"Beazley said something about damage to one side of his face and arm?"

"Yes, I'm afraid the Captain has played that down, Dustin will need some support his father has lost an arm, reduced sight in one eye and his hearing on that side. I made enquiries," Lucien cleared his throat.

The teacher frowned, "That doesn't sound good," he observed.

"Until we see him talk to him we won't know how badly he has taken it," Lucien pushed his hands into his pockets, "but as a fellow veteran and also one who was not good when he came home, I am hoping we can bond over that."

"I see," though plainly he did not, "er, the war?"

"Singapore," Lucien sighed.

"Ah, yes," he nodded, "my elder brother was there, bad do."

"Very," Jean agreed, "but you are much better now, dear," she slipped her hand through Lucien's arm.

"Thanks to you," he smiled down at her, "now, who else do we have to see, Jean?"

"I think we ought to find Ruth and see how she is getting on," she smiled. "Dustin's other grandmother," she clarified for the teacher.

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"I wish father had been able come," Dustin noted glumly, while Jean was helping him to pack for Christmas.

"Dustin?" Jean sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her. "What has your father told you about his injuries?"

"Not much, Grandma," he admitted, "just that he hurt his side and his face and has some scars, why? Hasn't he told you anything?"

"At first, sweetheart, that was it, that he had been injured but was alright. Then when he said he wasn't able to make Founder's Day I wondered and Granddad contacted the army. Your father has been quite badly hurt."

"Is he going to die, too?" Dustin's bottom lip trembled.

"No, dear, but ... you see it was an explosion, a land mine, he ... well he lost his arm, his sight is bad in his eye and he can't hear with that ear." She felt she blurted it out but how else could she tell him?

"But he's not dead," Dustin turned to her, it was at times like these she noticed just how much like Christopher he was. "And he can see, and walk and talk."

"It's not just the hurt to his body, though, Dustin, it's the hurt to his mind, to how he feels about himself."

"Grandma," he hummed, "father's a hero, isn't he? For what he has done in the army, keeping people safe ... I just want him to come home now, I do miss him."

"So do I love," she hugged him tight. "Granddad'll work on it. Your father will have to undergo tests to see how he is and they will be somewhere in Australia."

"So I will be able to go and see him?" he brightened up and Jean felt that no matter what Christopher looked like, Dustin would still just see his father.

"We'll see, depends where he is," she smiled, "but as soon as we can arrange it we will, ok?"

"Thanks, Grandma," he smiled, "now what do I need for Christmas?"

They finished the packing and went to find the rest of the family who were, not surprisingly, wandering inside the marquee set up with refreshments. The girls and William were skipping from table to table, sampling different cakes and biscuits, Alice and Matthew had found a quiet corner to have a cuppa and if Jean wasn't mistaken a quick cuddle.

Lucien and Ruth were chatting away about Dustin, how full the house would be for Christmas and laughing with Richard and his aunt. They were off to a small town to visit some cousins for the season, something they used to do when Richard's parents were alive.

"Sounds lovely," Lucien beamed.

"Come on, darling," Jean appeared in front of them, "we ought to get settled in the hotel, though I doubt the children will want much in the way of dinner if you've let them loose on the sweet things," she raised an eyebrow.

"Well, it doesn't happen often," he smiled, "I'm sure they'll be fine."

Jean gave a small 'harrumph' and went to collect her children and alert Matthew and Alice to their intention to leave. She cleared her throat as she approached and Matthew's hand magically appeared back on the table while Alice shifted in her seat and blushed. Jean said nothing, just smiled a little smile to herself.

They said their goodbyes to the people they had met and the boys Jean had sent birthday treats to – they all hugged her and thanked her for the box of assorted toffees and boiled sweets she had sent for them to share at Christmas.

"My birthday's the first one next term, Mrs Blake," Simon Keen piped up, which earned him a clip from his father.

"It's on the calendar, Simon," she smiled, ignoring the glare she got from his father a large business man dressed in a very expensive suit that was far too warm for the time of year, giving him the appearance of an over-ripe tomato.

"You're too kind, Mrs Blake," his mother simpered, she was the total opposite of her husband, tiny, skinny even, nicely made up but with a dress far too young for her, all frills and ribbons.

"It's no trouble," Jean assured her and linked arms with her own husband.

"Reminds me of Patrick," Lucien muttered as they moved away.

"But Simon's no Edward and she's no Susan," Jean murmured.

"Indeed not, she seems terrified of him whereas Susan will give as good as she gets."

"Hmm."

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Lucien used his contacts again to find out where Christopher was being rehabilitated. He was pleased to find out he was now in Melbourne and, on the pretext of being in court for a case, he took a day to go and see him. It was a risk, he knew, from past experience both personal and professional, but if they were to stand a chance of having him to stay even for a few days he would have to see him, speak to him and assure him nobody cared what he looked like, the whole family wanted him with them.

He located the doctor who was treating him and sat in his office to discuss his case, to look at his notes and understand how much more recovery he needed.

"I think he wants to see his son," the doctor sat back in his chair, "but he is afraid of what the boy might think, his reaction..."

"Quite, but Dustin views his father as a hero, he doesn't care what he looks like, just that he is alive, he can walk and talk, is what he said – Christopher can't put it off forever, and even if he only stays for a few days it should break the ice. If I can have a photograph to show the family they at least will be prepared."

"Let me take you to him," the doctor stood up, "perhaps we can help him understand how important it is that he not hide."

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Christopher was found sitting in the garden, reading; Lucien noted he was wearing sunglasses, his left sleeve was neatly tucked into his light-weight jacket pocket and a soft cravat held the hard line of his collar from the scars on his neck. Lucien was sure these scars extended well down and around his chest and abdomen; tight, burnt skin, ridges of flesh that would never go away – his own scarred back prickled at the thought.

"Captain," the doctor approached, "you have a visitor."

"Visitor?" he looked up, "Dr Blake?"

"Captain Beazley," Lucien smiled, "so good to see you."

"But how?"

"I still have contacts, and your mother was worried," he sat on a nearby bench to Christopher's right.

"Oh, I suppose I should have guessed she'd find a way," Christopher hummed.

"There's very little gets past her, I'm afraid," Lucien smiled. "How are you, really?"

Christopher sat and thought, no one asked that question wanting an honest answer, but Dr Blake did, and he didn't quite know how to answer.

"I expect you know why I'm here," Lucien continued when he got no answer.

"I missed Founder's Day, I disappointed my son," a single tear rolled down his cheek.

"Disappointed? No," Lucien shook his head, "Dustin was saddened you couldn't attend but accepted your reason, it was your mother that didn't, but again she wasn't disappointed, nobody was, just worried."

"I can't let him see me like this," he put down his book and waved his hand over the damaged side of his body.

"And you can't hide forever, one day he's just going to say you don't want him, he won't see how hurt you are inside, how afraid you are ..."

Christopher opened his mouth to say he wasn't afraid, but that would be a lie, he was afraid of rejection, the rejection by his son and his mother.

"... he will see it as you abandoning him." He nearly added again, but that wouldn't have been fair, Christopher had little choice at the time of Ruby's death than to send Dustin to boarding school. "Jean had a chat with Dustin while she helped him pack to come home for Christmas, told him how serious your injuries were ..."

Christopher gasped.

"... I found out when she thought your letters were hiding something. Anyway, she explained to him that it wasn't just the physical injuries but that these type of injuries hurt the mind as well, how you see yourself."

"And what did my son say?"

"He said you weren't dead, you could walk and talk and to him you are a hero. He just wants you to come home." He waited while Christopher processed this, he watched him get up stiffly, noted how he winced and how his gait was awkward and wondered if his back was affected, and wander over to the bench he sat on. Lucien shifted so he was on Christopher's right side, then he wouldn't have to raise his voice to his impaired ear.

"It's bloody painful," he muttered, "every twist, every shift in how I sit or stand pulls the burns."

"Have they given you anything to put on them?"

He shook his head.

"I use some herbal balms for things like that, something I learnt in Singapore and the camp, I would be happy to make some up for you, if you would like me to," Lucien said softly.

"At the moment doctor," he sighed, "I'll try anything."

"Good, well, again, Captain Beazley, you are invited to spend Christmas with your family, just a few days, you don't have to stay until Dustin goes back to school if you feel uncomfortable. I know it's hard to go home after something like this, you know how I dealt with it, not in the best way but I didn't have a family like yours waiting for me, I had a dying father and at the time, a rather judgemental housekeeper. You know how your mother felt about me at first, but it was her that put me back together again ..."

"She's a good person, I don't deserve her ..."

"Not sure I do, either," Lucien smiled.

"I don't want to shock them."

"How about I take a picture, I can show it to them and they will be prepared ..."

"I suppose so," he frowned.

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"So," Lucien sat in his place at the table and put an envelope down, "I have a picture of Christopher ..."

He and Jean had discussed how they would help the children get over the shock of his injuries when he had shown her the picture and told her the extent of the burns. In private it had allowed her to weep for the boy he once was and Lucien to explain what he had offered Christopher in the way of something to try and calm down the pain from his burns, the tightness of the skin. They had decided that they would show the children together and try and explain why Christopher hadn't come to see them yet.

"Is that father?" Dustin nodded to the envelope, "is that a photo?"

"It is, lad, he let me take it so you can see how he is hurt, how he looks now." Lucien dragged his chair closer, "are you ready to see?"

"Yes sir," he nodded, "I know he will look different, but that's ok, isn't it? I mean there's a man in Adelaide who only has one leg, the Japs blew his other one off, he says, but he still works, he looks after one of the bookshops."

Lucien thought the boy was wise beyond his years, at least in some things.

"Right then," Lucien slowly withdrew the picture, "this is him in the garden." He passed the picture to Dustin. It showed a man dressed as Lucien had first seen him, the scars were visible but from a distance not startling.

"Oh, he's reading," Dustin hummed, "he used to read to me. He still looks like my father."

"Good," Lucien offered it to Amelia and William sitting with Jean, "here's one of his injuries, you don't have to look if you don't want to."

"If I see him coming out of the bathroom after a shower ..." Dusting held out his hand, "I don't want to upset him by staring."

He stared at the photograph and ran his little finger over the image. Lucien put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly.

"Can you do anything for him, Granddad?" he whispered.

"I can try to ease his pain, the skin burns and pulls when he twists or moves, it will take a long time. There will be times he is angry, lashes out but it doesn't mean it is against you or any of us – these things run deep and not even those of us closest to him will ever know truly how he feels."

Dustin passed the photograph to Amelia and William who gasped in shock, "Sorry," Amelia blushed, "but it looks awful, poor Christopher."

"It is awful," Lucien agreed, "but don't give him sympathy, give him love as far as you can," he wondered how Amelia would cope having her natural father, who she knew not at all, around. He noted she called him Christopher and knew of the conversation she had had with Jean when Dustin first came to stay; there had been a few days when she seemed to seek confirmation she was loved by them, that she was their daughter, but they had talked of children who were adopted by complete strangers and she eventually decided there was nothing to worry about.

"So, should I get the guest room ready?" Jean looked around the table.

They all looked at each other and each gave a firm nod.

"Right," Lucien nodded, "I'll go and see him again this week, arrange with his doctors when he can come and how long he can stay."

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Dustin was understandably excited about his father coming to stay for Christmas and insisted on helping Jean get the room ready for him.

"Everything needs to be on this side, Grandma," he indicated the bedside locker, "so he can reach them."

"Ok, now can you put the towels in his little en-suite, please, then all will be set for him."

"Grandma," he sat on the edge of the bed, "d'ye think Granddad'll let me go with him, to bring father back?"

Jean and Lucien had had this very discussion, whether or not Dustin should go with him and have a private meeting with his father, before the rest of the family. Lucien thought it should be Jean going but there was no one to look after the children the day they had proposed he should be brought over, and she had said that perhaps, after all this time and the estrangement that it would be nice for Dustin to meet his father.

"I think it will be easier for Dustin too," she hummed, "not to have Amelia and William hovering in the background."

So it was decided – Dustin and Lucien would drive to Melbourne on the morning they had set for Christopher's return, Jean would stay at home with the other children and keep herself and them occupied. They also worried about how Amelia was going to react around him, she could be stubborn and forthright but up to now had not said a word against her natural father. They would just have to ensure she knew how much they loved her and that Christopher was not going to take her away, or send her to boarding school.

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It was a lovely drive to Melbourne, at Lucien's somewhat sedate pace. Dustin was quiet, thinking of how he would greet his father; should he run up to him and give him a hug? He'd never done that before, it was always rather quiet and a serious handshake, but he had seen how Amelia and William greeted Granddad and he thought it looked lovely. He had started greeting his grandparents that way and it was well received.

"Ok, son?" Lucien turned the car into a car park, "this is where your father is staying at the moment. We'll go and see the doctor first and you can ask any questions you want, none is too silly."

"Right," Dustin chewed his bottom lip.

"Nervous?"

"A bit, I know he's my father but I haven't seen him for a while and he's bound to have changed, he always has when he comes home, but this is different, isn't it? He won't be going back to being a soldier, will he?"

"No, he won't. He's been what we term 'invalided out', it means his injuries are such that he wouldn't be able to fight again." Lucien put his hand on his shoulder and Dustin looked up at him. He trusted his grandfather to tell him the truth and to protect him and nodded that they should continue on into the hospital.

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The doctor smiled at Dustin, hoping to put him at his ease. He said how nice it was to see him and he wasn't to worry about what he saw there.

"Granddad has told me what happened," Dustin swallowed, "and I have seen a picture of father. Why do people fight? I mean really fight. Boys fight at school but they don't try and kill each other."

"You know, son," the doctor sighed, "if we knew that we'd have the answer to all of the world's ills."

"Well, they need to stop," Dustin scowled and nodded his head firmly.

The doctor and Lucien couldn't help but smile at the boy's simple suggestion and wished it could be so.

"Are you ready to see your father?"

"Yes."

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Looking back on the meeting, Lucien told Jean he thought Christopher was the more nervous of the two. Dustin didn't see the broken man his father thought he was, he just saw his father, his hero, but mindful of the injuries Dustin's hug was gentle and it seemed for that moment the roles were reversed and it was Dustin who was the comforter to the father.

"I'm sorry, son," Christopher choked the words out.

"You came home, dad," he'd never called him 'dad', before but now it seemed right, "that's what matters to me."

Christopher put his arm round him and held him tight, Lucien left them to get to know each other again thinking the bond wasn't broken, just slightly bent.

When he came back out to see where they had gone he was delighted to see an ease between the two, though he was in no doubt it wouldn't always be so. There would be times they grated against each other, but Dustin had his family and Christopher would come to see he was also part of that.

"Dr Blake ..."

"Lucien, please," Blake smiled.

"Lucien, thank you for bringing Dustin to see me, we have come to an agreement that I will spend some time with you all this Christmas but that I must return here to continue my rehabilitation."

"That's wonderful, Jean will be delighted," Lucien beamed. "Are you ready to come today or do you want to wait a couple of days and I can come and fetch you when you are ready?

"If it's not too much trouble I should like to spare you the extra journey and come today ..."

Lucien nodded, thinking he was maybe not ready but at the moment he was prepared. Perhaps waiting another couple of days would give him too much time to think and he would decide against it.

"Can I help you pack, dad?" Dustin tugged his hand, "I helped Grandma with your room."

"Oh, well ..." Christopher coughed.

"Very helpful young man, you've got there," Lucien agreed, "always ready to do his bit in the house."

"Alright then," he thought his son had made the offer out of helpfulness and not pity.

Much as Lucien wanted to see how this would play out he decided another chat with the doctor treating his son in law would be in accord. Perhaps tell him what he would like to try in the way of herbal balms for the skin.

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Christopher heaved a sigh as Lucien pulled the car up outside the house – it wasn't a happy sigh, more resigned in nature and Lucien knew this was the hardest step he was to take. Once inside and wrapped in the love that was waiting for him he hoped he would relax and see that outward appearances didn't matter, not to family, what mattered was what was inside.

"Ready?" Lucien held the door open for him, with Dustin by his side. The eager face of his son did more to get Christopher out of the car than anything else he could imagine - so, ready he was not but he could do this.

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The sound of the car on the drive had been heard in the house, the crunch of tyres and the lighter crunch of feet.

"Mum?" Amelia touched her hand, "you alright?"

"Hm, yes," Jean gave a lift of her shoulders, "it sounds like they're here, let's go and greet them, eh?"

Amelia tightened her hold on Jean's hand and went with her to the door.

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"Hello, mum," Christopher gulped and within milliseconds found himself wrapped in the arms of his mother; small against him she may have been, but her heart was as big as a whale and he felt it at that moment.

"Christopher," she mumbled, "welcome home."

He had no words, he couldn't actually speak all he could do was take her hugs, hold her with his arm and take in the clean, clear scent that was his mother.

He lifted his head and took in the warmth of the dark wood and the smell of polish, the flowers on the hall side table, the rugs that lead to the living room and the kitchen. He had been to the house only once before, on that fateful night of his mother's birthday, the night the actress was murdered at the club, but it all seemed rather familiar as if he had held the idea in his heart for a long time.

Dustin showed his father the guest room and asked if he wanted some help.

"Dustin," Jean touched his shoulder, "let him settle in," she looked at Christopher, "there is a small bathroom for you, Christopher, we'll leave you to freshen up and tea will be ready when you are." She smiled and ushered Dustin out of the room before closing the door quietly.

"Grandma?"

"Your father has been through a lot, Dustin," she hugged him, "don't rush him; this is quite a big step for him. He needs time and space to come to terms with what has happened."

"Ok," he hummed still not sure.

"It will be alright, eventually, Dustin," she dropped a fond kiss on top of his head, "trust me."

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And it was, eventually. Lucien had assured him that his grandmother was invariably right and his father would find his feet in his new world.

Christmas past without incident and Christopher didn't mind the addition of the Lawson family; the children enjoyed singing round the piano with Lucien, sweets being freely available yet they did not overindulge, they thanked everyone for their gifts however small and if Christopher took time to rest in his room at times, nobody remarked upon it. Sometimes Dustin would join him and they would talk – Dustin would tell him about school and the times he spent with Lucien and Jean and Christopher would listen and tell his son as much as he could about his life as a soldier.

"Will you go back to Melbourne, Dad?" he asked one afternoon close to Christopher's return to rehabilitation.

"For a time," Christopher shrugged, "I don't have a home at the moment so that's something I have to sort out and a job; I have to have some kind of work."

Dustin frowned, he knew his grandmother would be happy if he came to live here, in Ballarat but he daren't suggest it, and what did wounded soldiers do, apart from the one legged man in Adelaide?

"Melbourne's a long way from Adelaide," he frowned.

"Would you prefer to stay here and go to school with Amelia?" Christopher had wondered over the time since the families had connected if Dustin could move to live with Jean and Lucien, it would make sense, but was it too much extra work for his mother?

"Would I be able to see you more?"

"It would be easier, as you say, Adelaide is a long journey for you, shall I see what your grandparents think?"

"I'd like that," Dustin smiled.

Christopher had noticed that Dustin and Amelia got on well together, and he knew that Amelia knew he was her biological father because Jean had told him they had explained it. Amelia had always addressed him as 'Christopher', never indicated she thought of him as her father and he supposed that was to be expected, and he felt little or no real connection to her. She was very like his own mother, he didn't see a lot of Ruby in her, she was generous and kind, adventurous and daring, bright too – brighter than either himself or Jack. Over the week he had got to know his mother in law better, had spent time talking with Ruth about Ruby and put any animosity to rest. He acknowledged that Ruby was spoilt and he had only continued what her own father had started.

"Though of course," he said to her one evening in the sunroom, "if we hadn't had Amelia and sent her to live with mum and the doc, you'd never have found your sister, maybe it's one of those things that happen for a reason."

"You could be right," she nodded, "and she's turned out well, hasn't she, Amelia?"

"Better than me or Ruby could have foreseen," he sighed, "she had much better parents than we could have been. Dustin was on the way to being like Ruby before she died, you know. I think the school in Adelaide did him good and even more when you and mum took it upon yourselves to contact him. I wasn't happy about that, I'm sure you realise, but I put that aside for him, and I'm glad I did. I've screwed up a lot, Ruth, time for me to put the past behind me and be the father he deserves."

"I see you trying so hard, Christopher," she smiled, "don't try too hard, Dustin loves you for who and what you are. He cares very much that you are happy, he's missed you."

"I'm going to ask mum if he can come to live here, go to school with Amelia and the others, he would like that and we would be able to meet up more easily."

"How does he feel about that?"

"He likes the idea, as he said, Adelaide is quite a long way to travel."

"Jean will be only too happy to have him here," she patted his shoulder, "he's fitted in very well."

"So I see," he grinned, "doing the washing up, tidying away, making his bed, all the things she used to have me and Jack do; she hasn't changed – at all."

"Do you have an idea of what you may do, when the army finally let you go?"

He shook his head.

"What kind of things do you like doing?"

"I discovered a love of reading, on quiet nights in the dugout or the office, it took me away from where I was."

"You should run a book shop," she teased.

"Not a bad idea, best of the ones I've heard so far," he sighed, "someone suggested I teach, but I would scare the kids with this ..." he pointed to the scarring and the missing arm, "a library is too quiet and I can't go back to farming."

Ruth thought she needed to talk to Lucien and Jean, and maybe Matthew and Alice – she had an idea.

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"He's a veteran," she looked around at the rest of the adults she had gathered in Lucien's study. "When I spoke to him he said he wanted another vet to take it on, if possible, but so far no one has come forward."

"So your idea is that Christopher take over the bookshop on Sturt Street," Lucien sat back and looked at the ceiling, "he'd be near Dustin, and people have got used to the Major with his eye patch, Christopher shouldn't present too much of a shock. It's a worry of his, that people will avoid him in the street, or conversely, stare."

"He said a library would be too quiet, so I gathered he would like something to do with books."

"Worth investigating," Matthew nodded.

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It was decided that Lucien should take Christopher for a short drive into town; so far he hadn't ventured further than the end of the drive, help him choose some chocolates for his mother.

"Just want to get her a little something extra, doc," he had blushed at being a devoted son that needed his step-father to drive him around.

"Nice idea," Lucien nodded.

"Only, I know it's walkable ..."

"Gotcha," Lucien grinned, "I just need to make a phone call, I can pick up some more herbs from the Chinese restaurant as that balm is helping."

"It has made a difference, thank you."

"Good," he disappeared into the study and closed the door.

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Two phone calls later they were driving past the bookshop, chocolates purchased and herbs collected – always back up a lie with some facts, Lucien had told Jean when he told her where they were going – when Lucien drew up outside the bookshop.

"CLOSING DOWN DUE TO RETIREMENT" the sign on the window stated.

"Shame," Christopher mused, "I used to come in here as a child."

"Thought you might like to stock up on reading matter," Lucien opened the door and stood waiting, "the owner's a veteran.

"Could do," he agreed and joined him in the shop.

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"Christopher's ready to be collected," Jean put the phone down and called through the house.

"Righty-oh," Lucien waved his hand and headed out to the car.

"Granddad, can I come?" Dustin ran to catch up with him.

"Surely, son," he grinned and ruffled his curls, "need this cutting before the start of term."

Dustin just laughed, his grandmother always had his hair cut at the end of a holiday.

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Christopher had a bemused look on his face when Lucien and Dustin arrived at the shop. When it had appeared that the Major and the Captain had much to talk about Lucien had suggested he leave them to it and he would wait for Christopher to call him to return to the house.

The Major had been the perfect balm to Christopher's wounded soul. He told him how he came to lose his eye at the Battle of the Java Sea and Christopher told him of his experiences clearing mine fields in Vietnam.

"Nobody cares here, son," the Major smiled gently, "here in Ballarat there is good support to the veterans, and at the ANZAC Day parade. All they want is a smile and good informed service. Take a look around, tell me what you think." He had left Christopher to potter around and heard him humming, moving books and saw him nodding and thinking to himself. It would seem the younger man was having ideas.

Tea was taken at the counter as Christopher made suggestions as to how he would run the shop, ideas for encouraging young readers.

"All the youngsters in my family read a lot, my own son had so many books for Christmas and I was surprised at how he instantly set to reading 'Treasure Island'. I thought that that corner, with the right lighting and maybe a couch and chairs or those new floor cushions would make a reading corner, perhaps I could get someone to come in and read on Saturday mornings?"

"You could do it yourself," the Major tipped his head and waited for the reaction, "after all they have to come past you to get into the shop so they won't be worried about the scars."

They shook hands at the end of the afternoon. Christopher had seen the small, one-bedroomed flat above that the Major used, but as he said he could rent that out as it had a separate entrance. All that was left was to discuss terms, a price for the business and the premises.

"There is no price," the Major shrugged, "I wanted it to go to someone who would look after it, someone who knew books and with your ideas I feel I would be leaving it in good hands, those are my terms."

"Free!" Christopher gasped, "I can't!"

"I have made enough for my retirement, a retirement in some comfort, son," he folded his arms, "I don't want to sell it, I want to give it as a gift to the right person, the person who deserves the same break I got when I took it over on the same terms. All I ask is that when you retire that is how you pass it on. I know you will have more expenses than me, I have no family, you have a son to raise but it should see you right."

And with an envelope in his hand with the deeds and the contract signed Captain Christopher Beazley took over the bookshop in Ballarat, hence the bemused expression on his face when Lucien arrived to pick him up.

"Dad?" Dustin touched his arm, "are you alright?"

"Wha', oh, yeah," he blinked, "I just got the shop. The shop is mine, to do with what I will ... doc, what happened?"

"Why don't you tell us when we are altogether," Lucien smiled, this sounded like big news that all the family should hear together.

"Right," he got into the car, gripping the envelopes tight in case if he relaxed he'd find it was all a dream.

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"... so that's it," he spread the paperwork in front of them, "I now run the bookshop in town and as long as I pass it on in the same way when I retire it's mine to do with as I will, I have some ideas which the Major thought were quite good but I will need help setting up things."

"Where will you live, dad?" Dustin, while delighted his father would be staying in Ballarat also knew he didn't have a home of his own.

"There's a flat above the store, just the one bedroom but all necessities," he smiled, "I shan't be far away, and eventually maybe I can get somewhere for the two of us."

Dustin pouted, separated again, though not as far apart as they had been.

"Why don't you continue to use our guest room, Christopher," Jean suggested, "you and Dustin are most welcome, aren't they, Lucien?"

"I should say so," he agreed, "family, Christopher."

"It's a nice idea, mum," he smiled, "but it's more work for you."

"And you can't wash the pots or make your own bed?" she raised an eyebrow, and it was true he had been doing those chores ever since he had arrived just before Christmas.

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Six months later:

"Your son's shop is wonderful," one of Lucien's patients caught Jean on her way out of the surgery. "Those Saturday morning story-telling sessions have my children enthralled."

"Oh, thank you," she smiled, it wasn't the first such compliment she had heard in the past few months but every time it made her smile. Christopher still had his dark days; he still had pain from the burns that Lucien continued to treat with his balms and he was frustrated by the lack of one arm and the poor sight in his left eye, but he got by. He had become a familiar sight heading to the shop each morning and home to Mycroft Avenue each evening. People nodded their greetings if he was walking in the gardens with Dustin and sometimes William, but never Amelia.

His relationship with Amelia was almost distant, he had only the feelings of a friend to her parents for her, she was his mother's daughter, his half sibling, Lucien's daughter. They rubbed along well enough at the house but if Amelia needed fatherly advice it was Lucien she turned to, and for help with her homework – he had admitted to his mother that he had screwed up completely when it came to his daughter.

"Amelia is alright," Jean smiled and stroked his cheek, "she told me she sees you as an elder brother, the only older boys she knows are those that she sees in town, or in Lucien's surgery so I suppose she is as much at sea as you are. She remembered your birthday without prompting; she isn't rude to you, is she?"

"No, I suppose I'll have to take what I can get; at least she doesn't leave the room when I come in."

But of all the children Amelia was the most voracious reader, of anything and it brought them a little closer one Saturday.

"Oh, well," Christopher hummed down the shop phone, "I understand, I hope your mother gets better soon."

He told the family when he got home that he may have to cancel that week's story telling session as his reader had had to go and look after her sick mother.

"Would you like me to do it, Christopher?" Amelia cleared her throat and blushed.

"Wow! I mean, would you? But wouldn't you rather be out with Elizabeth?" He gasped.

"She can come too, she likes reading, we could do a two parter," she coughed again, "what's the story?"

"Whatever you like, in your case, but it is usually a mixed age group ..."

"Ok, we'll come up with something," she shrugged and went back to her apple pie and custard.

Jean smiled, maybe this would bring the two closer together.

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The reading went well; Elizabeth had agreed to join her friend in the telling of the story and they both enjoyed themselves almost as much as the audience. It may not have brought Christopher and Amelia closer but it eased their relationship, and over time the girls or sometimes just Amelia read to the Saturday group.

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The children grew, they went on to high schools and universities, they made their own lives but whenever there was a celebration, a birthday or a Christmas, or just because they could, the house on Mycroft Avenue was filled with laughter and much merriment with extended family members welcomed into its warmth and joy.

Jean and Lucien, Matthew and Alice, would look fondly on at the younger generations and still wonder how they all got this lucky – even Christopher who stayed living with his mother and Lucien – there was no need to leave.

The end is what you make it.