The woman I came to this country to find – the woman I was paid to come to this country to find – I am not going to find. Mainly because I stopped looking. On darker days I felt I’d let every lead provided to me before coming here fray and dissipate, whilst on lighter days it appeared that any information I’d received was only going to get me insignificant miniscule steps closer to her.

Then, of course, there was the realization that she simply did not want to be found, and to not try and respect such an unspoken request seemed to me to be plain rude at best.

Of course, there was also involved on my part an inherent laziness, and an opportunity for myself, at least for the foreseeable future, to also disappear. Granted, with gradually dwindling funds, provided, of course, by my employer (essentially airfare, car and petrol money, general expenses, together with the promise of a significant bonus on successful completion of my undertaking – which, of course, I am now going to forgo) but he can afford it, and then some, and then some again, and besides, there is still that little voice inside whispering that this was all a ruse in the first place, a way to get me out of one country and into another one, on the other side of the world (away from whatever daughter of his he deemed I had designs on), packed with my usual personality quirks (aforementioned inherent laziness, but much more, oh so much more) which he likely knew (he’s certainly smart like that) would inevitably lead to me living in a small town in the Blue Mountains outside of Sydney, Australia, sharing a house with a man who has a nine year old daughter who comes to stay most alternate days throughout the week, and who, it seems, has now become one of my best friends. Oh if my old departed friends could see me now.

JG was talking last night about the time around when Shelley was a baby, and before turning in under the sheets I scribbled some lines from a page torn from the back of a school exercise book.