He never once, in the eleven years since it had happened, wished or welcomed his parents’ death. He was moderately grateful that they had died instantly, albeit in a ball of fire that no-one could get close enough to to rescue them. The post mortem suggested that they were already dead when the car burst into flames. The crash had been so violent that they were unlikely to have survived. Moments later that was confirmed by the flames that burnt them both to a crispy black representation of human bodies.

As he grew older, he did have to adjust to the realisation that his parents dying may have been a massive benefit to him in the long run. Of course he would never know. Maybe, if they had lived, he would have discovered a cure for cancer whilst holding the world record for the marathon and the 100 metres at the same time. But, all things being equal, probably he would have remained as his parents were, lower to middle class aspiring people who neither made it up the greasy ladder or down the slippery pole.

He was five, he had just started school at the local primary school. His baby sitter – Adrienne Lu – had stayed with him a few times and he was used to her, liked her, and went to bed when he was told. He had been in bed for a couple of hours when the police arrived.

Mr and Amy Smythe don’t feature much more in this story, they left for Amy Smythe’s office Christmas ‘do’. They were both looking forward to it, they had arranged for Adrienne to stay overnight, had carefully explained to Colin that Father Christmas would be really impressed if he was very grown up about not having Mummy and Daddy say goodnight. They had booked a room at the hotel. Oh yes, they were really looking forward to it.

Amy had started working part-time when Colin started at school. She loved it at Cardoon, Crumlin, and Smart – Architects. She typed letters, and loved being involved in some of the discussions of new designs. She felt she was back, or at least starting to be. She had done Town Planning at college, and had found her observations well received as the architects reigned in their more ludicrous flights of fancy so town councils were willing to consider their ideas. The Christmas meal was something that she had a right to look forward too.

The car had shot out of the side road on the right hand side of the road, not seeing the cyclist, hit him a full speed (DOI at the hospital), bounced over the man, hit Mr Smythe midships and the two cars slid off the road with the Porsche embedded deep in the Ford Sierra side. Mr Smythe’s seat had ripped from its mountings and rammed it into his wife, whose body suffered immediate and catastrophic injuries that she almost certainly lost so much blood in those first seconds that she had at least lost consciousness as the car started to slide sideways down the hill. Her husband had broken his neck already. Halfway down, they hit a rock and started to roll instead of slide. In the ditch at the bottom, the car struck sparks and the petrol caught fire. The driver of the Porsche awoke halfway down the slope, realised what had happened, and legged it. Silly man. He was arrested two days later.

The police came round to 19 Duckworth Mews in Wensleyton, a semi detached house of no particular architectural merit. Like the whole of the small estate, they were built after WW2; built quickly but to a good standard, not like the cheap modern housing going up nearby in roads with fanciful names like ‘Comfort Glade’ and ‘Convent Arbour’. Duckworth Mews was called that because it had been a mews (of sorts) – the road had held stables for an estate nearby in the past; and Duckworth was one of the architects of the estate. There was some meaning in the name, not a meaningless pairing of words stuck together.

PC Areo knocked and smiled at the young woman who answered. Normal formalities established, PC Areo and PC Thomas came in and gently explained that the boy upstairs was an orphan as of two hours ago. Social services would be around. PC Areo stayed when Thomas left. Areo was caring, she talked to Adrienne as if she was an adult (she was sixteen), and when Social Services arrived at 4am to take Colin into temporary care, Areo supported Lu in suggesting that they should come back in the morning. Harriet Stowe (“Call me Harry” she would say, supposedly to put people at ease but actually she just hated her name and its posh connotations) was put out that she would have to come back, but even she could see it made sense to let Colin sleep on in his bed for one last time.

The next day, a conference was held as Colin played in the front room. Christmas was two days away. Adrienne had shown herself wise beyond her years. During the week she lived in a 52 Wensley Gardens. She would get the two girls up, dress and feed them and get them both to school; clean, make dinner and collect the girls. At the weekend Madrigal and Rupert Cavendish would look after the children, they weren’t bad parents, just very busy. So Adrienne would do the occasional baby sitting in the town. She had rung her employers and explained to Madrigal what the situation was.

“Bring him to stay, at least until after Christmas. Poor little mite.” Madrigal had said, Adrienne knew she would. Madrigal was kind, genuinely so. She like helping people. Rupert was less engaged with other people’s problems, but he went along with his wife because he loved her.

When they had married, they had both started working in the business, but when Melissa came along, they had had a mature and intelligent conversation and agreed that Madrigal would stay at home and play housewife to allow Rupert to spend all the hours that God gave concentrating on getting the business working. Two years after Melissa, Melanie had come, and two years after that, the still birth of Melinda confirmed that Madrigal and Rupert had a biological imperfection that made it risky to have more. The business grew, and Madrigal found herself involved in local fund raising, campaigns, volunteering. She loved it. They moved, moved again, and then bought number 52. The simple number gave a false impression.

Wensley Gardens had originally been the side entrance to the Wensley estate. At the entrance was a small lodge. That lodge became a tenanted farm, which entailed expansion to the house, and some outbuildings. The Lodge became Wensley Farm. The tenanted farm was sold off by the Wensley family when they needed money in a hurry (but quietly). The field outside the estate had some attractive Edwardian houses built – Wensley Gardens was born as part of the intended expansion of the village which never grew to the town it could have been if the railway had arrived. It remained a quiet village called Tidbury. Wensley Farm was broken up, the land mostly joining the Wensley Estate farmland as part of Wensley Holdings Inc, a farm corporation owned by a slightly shady company in the Bahamas. The house and buildings were surplus to requirements and were sold with ten acres. That passed through numerous hands until the Cavendishes found it and bought it. Rupert, Madrigal, Melissa and Melanie loved it. There was space for Madrigal’s horses, space of a proper office for Rupert (who could work from home at weekends and spend time with the family too). When the farmland had been sold separately, it was sold as Wensley Farm; the house just became number 52, the house at the end of the Gardens before it went on to the estate.

The shortest route to Wensleyton was along the lane through the estate. It required opening twelve gates, so those in cars drove round. Anyway, at the town the lane came up behind a row of labourers cottages (built for the farm labourers and now worth more than any labourer could ever hope to afford), turned ninety degrees left, travelled to the end of the row and then turned ninety degrees right to then travel to a side road that led into the town centre. To a casual observer from the road, the track was just access to behind the houses, it was not an obvious public byway.

“Bring him to stay, at least until after Christmas. Poor little mite.”

“Are you sure? I’m not sure what Social Services will say.”

“Put them on to me if you need to.”

Harry the social worker was actually grateful to the ‘posh do-gooder tart’ who simply said bring him over. There should have been an assessment, several forms, a council decision. She had three kids to take into care from parents spaced out on crack, she was pleased to delay this one at least. He could stay over Christmas. She still thought of Madrigal as an interfering do-gooder who needed to get a proper job, but this time it helped.

PC Areo breathed a sigh of relief too. She knew about the crackheads’ children, she would be helping there too. This boy Colin wouldn’t know what hit him if he went into a home with those kids. The one silver lining with Demelza, Uri, and Sam was that they got proper food for a change, clean clothes; and they were becoming slightly used to being taken to homes ‘to help Mummy get better’.

Colin went with Adrienne happily enough. When he was told he would be staying for a while, his main concern initially was how would Santa know that he had moved. Madrigal and Adrienne lit a fire (though it was unseasonably warm, and the central heating was working well) and wrote a letter to Santa to tell him. Colin was content for another day before deciding that he wanted his parents. He cried, became inconsolable and only settled when Madrigal took him onto her lap and clutched him to her breast. Colin’s mother had a small bust that was warm to be hugged into, but not comforting. Madrigal had a pair of large, pillows; she was very well endowed – when the business was starting they had proved useful assets in distracting bank managers and investors on occasion. They really were pleasant to nestle between, she was wearing a dressing gown after a shower when he started to get upset; so when she pulled him in to her, his head was sandwiched between her partially exposed bosom. He relaxed in this mammary heaven.

Melanie came in and looked angry, Madrigal told her that Colin had had a big upset and she should be more understanding. Colin snuggled down into the valley between her breasts. Madrigal pulled her daughter over and – and Colin remembered this for ages – uncovered her left breast. Melanie clamped onto her exposed nipple and sucked. Yes, Colin remembered that for years, a girl was offered a breast and nipple, even at five years old. His mother had stopped letting him suck her tits at six months! Colin envied Melanie for that.

Melanie was jealous that this interloper was getting into the spot she was used to achieving; she made it clear and was told not to be so thoughtless: “This boy had lost both parents, show a little kindness Melanie.” Neither Melanie nor Colin knew what losing a parent meant. On Christmas Eve they went looking in all the outbuildings for the lost parents, but they didn’t find them.

Meanwhile Madrigal had been rushing round buying toys for boys; she wasn’t into PC, non-violent toys. His mother had been, Colin was okay with not owning a cowboy set, but he still ran around the garden with a stick going ‘bang bang’. He was just emulating what he saw on TV of course. When Christmas Day came, he was delighted with his presents, but his upbringing up to that meant that he was happy playing with Melanie and Melissa and their dolls. He poured the tea with them, talked to Teddy and even changed Sindy. He was no more interested in Sindy being naked than the girls were (okay, all three were, ever so slightly; and thought it hilarious when Sindy had to go to the toilet. Childish humour). It was that that meant he wasn’t rushed off after Christmas. He could stay until the New Year; then until a permanent arrangement was made.

His mother’s sister was in Australia, and her brother was living alone and decidedly not suitable (there were ‘rumours’; nobody ever really detailed what the rumours were); his father’s two sisters both said that, overall, given everything, they didn’t think they could take him on. His mother’s parents were willing, but very frail. His father’s parents reckoned they’d done their bit, they didn’t want to be burdened with a child now they were enjoying life again (cruises and fancy hotels). Social Services despaired. He stayed a little longer.

He was never more than fostered with Madrigal and Rupert, but weeks turned into months and then years. Adrienne moved on, and Colin stayed. He was helpful, supportive and protective. When two boys started flicking girls skirts at school, he stood up to them and got a black eye. He was told off for fighting, and kissed by Melanie and Melissa – he said it was horrible, but he liked it really.

Madrigal and Rupert could have sent their children to the best private schools, but they were genuinely committed to the idea of equal opportunity. The three children went to the local primary and then the town secondary. The back (if direct) way to school meant they cycled to Wensleyton.

The clincher was when he was thirteen. The three of them went to a party. Melissa had the hots for an older boy, she was fifteen and he was eighteen. That could have been fine, but he wanted more than she understood. Colin happened to see them go outside together, they got into the boy’s car. He wasn’t spying, he had a feeling something wasn’t right. He knew that one reason for getting into a car was for sex, which was fine if she was willing, but he knew Melissa wasn’t ready yet. He was pretty sure that the boy wasn’t good enough for her, she just hadn’t realised it. The boy unzipped and pointed, she shook her head and made to get out. The boy grabbed her head and pushed her down. What happened next went into local legend. The door opened and the boy was partially pulled out. If he’d just got out, he could have beaten up Colin easily; instead he fell and kept one hand on the door pillar. Colin slammed the door back shut on his hand, twice.

By the Monday, the story of how he had saved his sister (it was accepted by everybody that he was brother or step brother or adopted or foster brother or something) from rape by taking on and beating a much bigger boy. He had been a wild thing, a raging storm. Boys slightly feared him, girls loved him. Melissa and Melanie and Madrigal all loved him.

Madrigal had grown up riding to hounds. When she married and supported her husband’s startup, she put her riding into hibernation. When they had moved, they had space for horses, Rupert joined her in gentle rides and, being the man he was, he became determined to improve.

In years, they became joint Masters of the Hounds for the local hunt. It helped that the Cavendish’s sponsored the ball at Christmas. Their two daughters learned to ride, by this time the hunting was drag hunting. Madrigal publicly supported the new rules against hunting foxes with dogs, but privately she bemoaned the excitement, drag hunting was never quite as exciting as seeing the fox in the distance and spurring on the horse to jump higher, run faster.

Melissa and Melanie enjoyed learning to ride, there seems to be something about girls and horses. There is certainly something about seeing the tightly wrapped rump of an attractive girl rising and falling on a horse. Colin learnt the basics, he was included in everything. But he soon lost interest. He liked the horses well enough, but he was as happy watching them. They all went on a pony trekking holiday in Scotland when he was ten; that had been fun. The revelation (to him and to his foster parents) was that he took really good photos. They bought him a camera for his birthday.

Now he was sixteen, he had a much better camera. Zoom lenses, fish eyes lenses, filters for sunrises and sunsets; he had produced some videos, but his main interest was in pictures. He earned a little extra money selling some pictures of sports events to the local newspaper (first it was school sports days, then it was local teams – cricket, football, rugby). He was good.

The meet on Saturday was in the square. It was a delightful event for the town. Everybody liked to see the red dress of the men (and women – it used to be only men, but there had been a revolution and now women members of the hunt wore the red jacket too). Madrigal was sitting on her bay horse in her tight red jacket. The women’s jackets all bulged at the front; Madrigal’s bulged particularly attractively. Colin noticed, he tried not to look. He looked over at Melanie and noted how her jacket was starting to bulge too. Damn! She was his sister! He was looking at her and seeing her boobs. He looked to the left at Melissa and noticed she was filling her jacket even more.

Rupert wasn’t there, he had a meeting in Aberdeen that was very important. Only one of the joint Masters was there – Madrigal.

A horn sounded, and the hunt started to move off. The dogs were excited; They loved the hunt, it was what they were bred for. They were pack animals anyway, so running in a pack after a prey – even a scent trail – was exactly what they loved to do. That their human associates (on horses) joined them made it all the more fun. Colin took pictures, these would be good for a newspaper or a postcard; but he had some idea where the hunt would go. So he quickly moved off on his bicycle. The route of the drag went down into a valley and then up through a wood. He headed for the wood to photograph the hunt re-appearing. He knew the route because he knew the drag layer; he had befriended Tim Laycock at school Tim Laycock’s mother laid trails for the hunt. She was good at it and was a little flattered that Colin would record how good her trails were. She got to know him, got to trust him and so Colin knew the rough route.

At the Millennial Wood, he waited and watched. The dogs appeared; but an unexpected thing happened, the dogs split into two groups. Colin knew that the left hand branch was the correct one for the drag. He smiled as he got some brilliant photos. The whippers-in would soon bring the other group back. He watched as Madrigal arrived, said something to them and the whippers-in went to the group of hounds on the drag trail and drove them back. The whole group then went off on the non-drag trail. At least one of the whippers-in should have known which was the correct trail, but now they were all on a real animal scent. Colin clicked a few more shots. Madrigal and her two daughters charged off. Did Madrigal know which was the correct route? Colin had a suspicion, but it was just that, a suspicion.

He had known where the drag was due to end, but now had no idea where the hunt would go; but he had a lucky break. Far off to the left of where he was standing, on the other side of the river that flowed down the valley, a movement caught his eye. A small brown dog-like animal ran across an open field. It was two miles away, it might just be a fox getting out of the way, but he took a chance and headed that way. He had to go a mile out of his way to cross the river at the bridge. Then he waited.

“Yes! There they are!” The hunt came charging up the valley. He cycled madly up the road and saw the whole hunt clustering at a spinney below the road. He climbed over a gate and took some more photos. Everybody milled around. Madrigal was on the phone. She nodded and hung up. Ten minutes later, a pickup turned up with three men with terriers and some spades in the back.

Colin moved a little and could see they were digging. The hunt knew this was no drag hunt now. Drags do not go to ground. Colin photographed the terriers being put down holes. The terriers were to locate the fox, hold it in place and bark so the men above knew where to dig. It took fifteen more minutes, the fox was pulled out and held up by its tail. It snapped but could not reach the hand – Madrigal’s hand – that held it. Surely she would let it go now.

He took photos as Madrigal turned and dropped the fox into the baying mass of hounds. It didn’t stand a chance of course. It probably died very quickly, torn to shreds by the dogs. Colin was shocked. That was not what he had expected from his day. Quietly he left and cycled home.

He looked at his photos, studied them for evidence that Madrigal had not intended this all to happen, but found none. He also wanted proof that Melissa and Melanie had been horrified. No, at the back of one photo, the two girls were high-fiving each other; they weren’t horrified, they were delighted to have taken part in a ‘proper’ hunt.

Another photo of Madrigal holding the fox showed her face; yes, there was an evil glint in the eyes, no doubting it.

He waited until Rupert came back. He needed to talk to him.

“Rupert, do you have a minute? How did the trip go by the way.”

“Course, Colin. The trip was great, what’s up buddy?”

“I photographed the hunt ... but ... it went off the proper trail.”

“Haha – got confused did they? Silly buggers.”

“They were chasing a fox.”

“Scary for the fox, but it will have got away.”

“No ... it was dug out.”

“Eh? You sure?” He showed Rupert the photo of the men digging. “Shit! What was she thinking? Anybody else seen this? Anybody else taking photos?”

“No and no.”

“Good, let’s keep it quiet.”

“Honestly think that’s unlikely.” Colin said. “I’d suggest that with all those people present, someone will talk. Your company sponsors the hunt. It could be really bad publicity.” Rupert was nodding. “Soooo, make a donation to RSPCA and maybe even an anti hunt charity? Announce that you’ve heard a fox was accidentally killed. Pre-empt the problem.”

Rupert stood silent for a while. “Yes, that’s a good idea. I like the way you think Colin. I’ll have to speak to Maddy.”

“Would it be easier for me to mention to her that I saw her?”

Rupert breathed a sigh of relief. If Madrigal was really helpful and kind, she did have a cruel streak, he knew that; Rupert was a great competitive businessman, but never liked true confrontation. Yes, let Colin tell Madrigal, she’d know never to do it again.

Before he spoke to her, Colin decided to punish the two girls. They had cheered at the death of the fox. He put a couple of photos into two envelopes and posted them to each girl. On the back was written “They will love you in prison.”

“Hi Madrigal. I didn’t ask about the hunt.”

“Colin, well, it was good. Hard riding though. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it.”

“No, especially when you killed the fox.”

There was silence and then: “You know?” he showed her the photos of the digging. “Ah, yes, well, we needed to check out that it had been a fox we were hunting, it was meant to be a drag, we must have crossed a real fox trail. But I was concerned in case the dogs were chasing anything else now. Have you told Rupert?”

“I think he knows, he’s looking to quell any bad publicity. The thing is, he’s announced it was an accident.” He laid the photo of Madrigal dropping the fox into the pack. “It wasn’t, was it?”

“Ah, look. I ... what can I do? I mean?”

“I ought to tell him.”

“NO! I mean, no, it would worry him too much. What ... is there anything I can do to persuade you.”

After, he had no idea why he said it. He knew it was way outside the realm of possibility, wasn’t it? “Naked.”

“What? What do you mean? Me? You ... you want to see me naked?” she garbled. And he realised that actually, yes, he really did.

“Naked.”

He’d actually said that. After the initial reaction, there was silence. It was long, almost tangible. For the first time, Colin understood, really understood, the saying that you could cut the silence with a knife. It was so all encompassing, so overwhelming; he didn’t even have the chance to think ‘now I’ve done it, off to the orphanage for me’. His mind was blank.

For her part, Madrigal was similarly stunned. She said nothing because she had been hit by a metaphorical baseball bat. She had been blessed with two lovely girls and had learnt to deal with the tantrums and furies that pre-pubescent, pubescent and then near-adult girls could produce. The flow of new hormones could create mood changes that turned from pleasant young girl to white-heat fury of a teenager to calm adult in minutes. She knew all this, she had experienced all this (though her mother’s solution to the anger part had been a bit of horse whipping, her mother had frequently tanned the younger Madrigal’s hide with the flat of a horse whip. It hadn’t helped Madrigal, it had helped her mother, whose temper tantrums had been sublimated for years). She wasn’t, simply wasn’t, aware of the young male’s ability to start seeing sex in everything and everybody.

“I ... Why? I’m old. Why me?”

Madrigal was unaware that she had been in the top 3 MILF league table at their school for three years now. She had won it three years ago, but slipped to second when Abigail Toron arrived at the school, aged seventeen. Abigail’s mother was so young and sexy that some girls started a rumour that she and Abigail were sisters rather than two generations. Naturally all right thinking people discounted such a ridiculous suggestion (after rolling the idea around in their fetid, perverted minds for a few days); but in fact the situation was more complicated that that. Anna Toron was both mother and sister to Abigail; but she isn’t the subject of this story.

“You aren’t old and you won ... never mind. You have a great body. I just want to see it, all of it. I ... Sorry.”

“What? You start trying to blackmail me and then say sorry? You are one sick puppy.”

“I wasn’t trying to blackmail you. You said was there anything I wanted, and I told you.” which, she recognised, was true. She had made the first offer, she just had expected ‘a new laptop’ or ‘can I have a party’. She looked at him. He said nothing; something in him said that he was on a knife edge. He wasn’t sure what the two sides of the fence were (he wasn’t thinking too straight), but he knew, he just knew, that silence was best. She was actually just a little impressed by his ruthless streak.

She looked at him, willing him to retract. She was trying to out-silence him. It always worked on Rupert, it always worked on the girls. She met her match with Colin. She capitulated. The thing was, the weak chink in her otherwise strong armour, she wanted to feel a young man still lusted after her. She knew that Rupert was really only interested in sex for the biological necessity of relieving the pressure that built up inside him. That was mostly why she did it too. To feel the gaze of unadulterated lust on her was a bit of turn on. “How about topless?” she said. He stayed silent. ‘One day’ she thought ‘you are going to be a very good negotiator’. “Okay, okay, but wait until Friday. Rupert has to be away, and the girls are going to a party. You not invited?”

“No, it’s a girls only party – Martine is a lezzer, sorry, a lesbian.”

“Right, none of that sort of talk please.” Madrigal was pleased to see that even with him holding five aces, he still knew not to use bad language. “Sooo, girls only. Do Mels know?” It was a shorthand they all used sometimes to refer to both girls together.

“Oh yeah. Martine is fine, she won’t, you know drug them and rape them or anything. She just can’t see the point of having any male hormones floating around. Actually I’m with her on that.” he smiled, and so did she, she understood that he would be happy to be at a girls only party, the only boy.

“Actually, all girls have testosterone too. Like all boys have some female hormones. It’s just the balance.” she brought him back to the question in hand; “So, Friday, okay?”

“What’s on Friday?” Melissa walked in and asked. Together they both said “PIZZA” and laughed.

For the rest of the week, Madrigal wondered why she was looking forward to Friday. She was in his hands, he wouldn’t just want to look. A devil on her shoulder said ‘good, get some young cock inside you’; but an angel on the other shoulder said ‘no, he’s as close to a son as he can be.’ She slept badly, dreaming of Colin having an enormous penis and having her, dreaming of Rupert coming back and finding her, dreaming of reaching a huge orgasm – and finding that she was climaxing in her sleep. Rupert woke to that, found her panties damp to the touch and took advantage of the opportunity. She didn’t object, she rather liked it. He was usually a very sensitive lover who only did whatever she wanted him to, her other S&M side craved him taking her unwillingly. But she couldn’t say that, that would make her willing and ruin it. Anyway he was a modern man who would be horrified at the thought of making her do something she didn’t want to. So she’d never sucked him off (he never asked in case she was offended, and she never offered because it never seemed the right time); and never had him fuck her the other way (he did think of anal sex, he even read up about it, he looked at it on porn sites; but he couldn’t ask her. She couldn’t ask him, convinced he’d be appalled). So the trouble in paradise was the result of lack of communication rather than one partner being more demanding that the other.

Friday – she would be out of control, or rather under Colin’s control. She tried to drop hints that she would do whatever he wanted if he kept quiet.

He saw the letters arrive for Melanie and Melissa, saw them both open them, blanch and slip the envelope and pictures into their bag quickly. It was a wind up, or it had been. Now he was wondering, if Madrigal was so willing what about them?