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That summer was a weird affair. I spent more time in Paris, catching up with both Kitty and the boys in Le Marais. They took me drinking, then took me to Montmartre to get me laid, but I wasn't up for it then and just looked at all the girls and smiled. Henri knew, and instead devised a different adventure, a weekend of bear and pony.

We went out of Paris, towards Fontainbleu. He avoided the chateau though, instead taking me to a place not many seemed to know about. Vaux le Vicomte, about an hour away. A peaceful place, where Louis XIV's treasurer had built a mini Versailles and invited the court to a grand opening that wowed those who mattered and so had tempted the wrath of his King. He ended up in prison, with his fortune confiscated along with his design team. His architect, gardener and painter ended up doing Versailles, and the guy ended up dying in jail. He got to enjoy it properly for one day.

Compared to the passive aggressive wrath I felt from Gerald when he came over to see Marj, Louis was in another league for sheer fuck you.

We walked around the gardens, beautiful and serene, late in the afternoon. As the light faded, candles sparked into life, and the whole place became a recreation of the time of the kings, complete with fireworks. I sat by the canal and watched transfixed, smiling like a kid again, while the bear hugged me for warmth. What we had wasn't sexual, it was far better than that. It also made me sad, because it made me feel how little I had with my dad.

Henri seemed to know that too.

"So what does your father do with you Paul?"

"Well, he taught me to ride a bike, and play footy. I learned to kick thanks to him. And when I was young, he would take me to the Royal Melbourne Show, and put me on his shoulder so I could watch the grand parade and see all the animals. I loved that, always, I wanted to be a farmer. I just loved doing things with him too, having him show me things."

"Yes, but what now?"

"We don't talk much. I mostly make him sad."

"Paul, I am sure you make him proud too. He does not know how to say, but I am sure he does."

"I am not so sure."

The bear looked troubled by that, and hugged me tighter. We talked about Sabine, and Marjorie, and Laerke, and Beate, and Erika, and he nodded and listened. He never judged did Henri. I hated the way dad always judged.

"You have had quite a time Paul, interesting but not always good. What do you want? Do you know that?"

"I want someone to love me, who loves me for me, who gets who I am and doesn't want to change it, or fix it, who can take that I get depressed as well as happy, who wants my body and my heart, and talks."

"Bon. Now, when you have loved, have you been that person for others?"

I realised I hadn't, not really. It was a sobering realisation, but also made me more puzzled. If there was anyone I thought I managed to treat that way, it was Marjorie, and yet she had sent me away again. Well, except the talking part. We had started, then Marj had clammed up suddenly, just before she told me to sling my hook, nicely but firmly.

The bear nodded as the candles glowed, reflecting off his deep eyes, while I went through this litany.

"Then when you return Paul, you must talk. All of it, even the things you do not want to. You owe it to her, and to yourself."

I took that with me through the next months as I explored, wandering across the face of Europe with no clear purpose except to be ready for any conversation when I got back to London. It took me a while, and a detour into the Champagne region to pick grapes and earn some money. If there was one thing an 18 year old big stallion is built for it is physical work, and I could do it well enough that I earned enough to drink and still have money. If I wandered a couple of times in that late September, into places I knew I should not, it was loneliness that made me go, and the usual demons, my lack of confidence and self worth. I found it in the willing and eager arms of a cow from Rhiems and a fox from Belgium, both my age, and a carefree romp was all either had in mind. It had a calming effect, though I knew I would have to confess to Marj.

Maybe she could be angry, and forgive me, and I could forgive her for sending me away, and not talking. We could share vulnerabilities again, and move forward. That was the stupid plan I had when I finally headed back to London on the Eurostar and decided to surprise her in her flat one night. I had a key still, as I had forgotten to hand it back when I left, so I thought I would make it a nice surprise. A meal cooked, candles lit, and a naked stallion laid out for her on the couch. If I had rose petals it could not have been more romantic.

When the key turned in the lock, and she walked in and turned on the light, I expected shock, but what I did not expect was tears. Or the other thing I found, which was the reason for all of this. The slightly rounded belly, under her work top struggling to contain it.

"Marj..."

"Paul..."

Somehow the talking seemed harder than I expected.

That was how I found out I was going to be a dad, your dad. That moment when I returned to London and your mum Marj came in looking like she was all done in. Afterwards, I wondered which time it was, though I know that is stupid.

Was it that first, when we made love like virgins discovering everything for the first time? Was it the time we had a fight after we went out with her work friends and I bit back at their jibes and we yelled and cried and made love to make it better, with her muzzle pressed to my chest almost to check that I was still alive. Or was it the time after I confessed that I tried to die, in that last year of school, taking enough sleeping pills but throwing them up again before it was too late and she held me and almost tried to pull me back to happy memories with her body and her kiss.

I don't suppose it matters, in a way. Looking back now, whenever it was, there were things the same. I know when you get older, and know what things mean, you might feel embarrassed, but I wanted you to know. It was many things, that brought you into the world, but it wasn't tawdry, it wasn't casual, it wasn't just a fuck. And if we didn't know quite how to make it work, and how to deal with what we had and what we felt, we did have it, and we did feel. Always know that. Always.

When we finally sat down that October night, and talked, we just held. I wanted to know, and I couldn't find the right questions. I never find the right questions.

"Marj...is it...mine..."

"Paul, I haven't been with another horse. Only you. Ever. I thought...well, I never thought I could get pregnant, I was too old..."

"I thought you used contraception...thats what you told me..."

"Yes, but something didn't work. And now, I'm..."

"What are you...what are we going to do?"

"I...I was going to get rid of it, while you were away. That was why I sent you back to France Paul."

I was angry, and crying, but I couldn't find the words to fight back. It was both of our decision...but I knew we were in very different places in our lives, and there was almost zero chance of it working.

"So why didn't you..."

"Paul, do you remember when I came for that holiday with you to the beach, when you were 5? Before I went to London."

"I do. You looked after me on the beach, and made sandcastles with me, and bought me icecream."

"Yes. And one night, before you went to bed, you wrapped your arms around my waist, and looked into my eyes, and said 'I love you Marjie, please don't go away'. I melted, there and then, and as you grew up, I always saw that sweet foal underneath, the one who was so open and loving, and just wanted to be told he was doing ok. I hated what your parents did, they only seemed to tell you that you did wrong. I knew how much that foal ached, and I wanted to show you how much you could do. I guess I have a fine way of showing it, after all."

"But when I went to see the doctor, and got all the information, all I could think about was holding a little foal just like that in my arms, a little one just like you, like the one I remembered. I couldn't do it."

There was no more to be said, though we spoke plenty. Marj was in charge, and I would not be throwing my life away. I would return to Australia, go to uni, and she would bring up our foal. When I was ready, I could be a part of that too, but only if she was convinced she hadn't screwed up my life.

Like a coward, I let her talk me into it. I am sorry. Of all the things I thought I needed to apologise for when I started writing this, that's the only one. For missing these years, even if it was for the best.

I had enough of travel, enough of being away. I had had my adventures, as mum intended, though I am not sure I had learned. The learning came mostly in hindsight. And the first lessons would be on arrival.

Mum took it the worst. She had been angry with me before, and cried, but never been as angry as she was when I sat down with mum and dad and told them all, about Marj, the foal, everything. She was silent as the grave at first, then she slapped my muzzle and screamed, and went to find a phone to scream at Marj but I tried to get the phone off her while still pleading and hurt her arm instead, and that sent dad completely off the deep end.

He yanked me by my mane, all the way to the shed. I got a backhander for my troubles, and a snarl I hadn't heard from him. He threw me over the work bench and I heard him pull off his belt and felt the crack of a hit. The pain was something, but the hurt was far deeper. There was only one though. When I looked up, he was devastated. He dropped the belt, and pulled me into his arms, and cried. Dad never cried. I had never seen it anyway, not in 18 years. After he pulled himself together, we sat together in his bolthole, his mancave, and he showed me where the beers were.

I shared my first beer with my dad then, still a total mess, both of us. He confessed he had been so hard because he saw too much of himself in me, and worse he saw himself turning into his own father. Granddad had never been a presence in our lives, and dad finally told me why. He apologised, and we talked, as adults, for the first time in our lives. It is strange, that this could make us finally get beyond the crap, but it did. Guys are strange that way. With mum though, there was no going back for now.

In the end, I moved out of home. The atmosphere was beyond toxic, and we needed space from eachother. The one I turned to was Jaxson, the only one I could rely on I felt, my sweet bull. He had a room in a shared house, and he was more than willing to put me up until it all blew over. The initial plan fell over fast though, when his housemates vetoed me staying on the couch. There was only one thing for it, I had to share a bed with my best mate.

What happened should have been inevitable I guess. When two young people share a bed, and one has feelings for the other, something is going to give. Even when there are as many issues as there were in this situation. I was vulnerable, and I needed someone who wanted to look after me, and I needed a comforting presence. Above all, I wanted Jax to know how much I cared about him, and how grateful I was.

I'm not sad or embarrassed though, at least not about doing things with a guy. I am sad and embarrassed that I hurt Jax. Because I knew that I didn't really like him that way, even though I would have if I could have. And I led him to believe, like Henri said, that the love I felt was enough to turn for him. Once I realised the damage I was doing, I owned up, and we parted sadder and wiser but still friends. We still are today, stronger than ever, though his boyfriend doesn't like me very much.

That final mistake, that final hurt was the end though. I wised up, and managed to sit mum down long enough for the conversations we never had but needed to. I had made mistakes, as had Marj, but we were adults, and we would sort it out ourselves. If she loved us, she would see that too. With dad in my corner, she began to come around, a little. She never really thawed with Marj though, not till now of course, and that for reasons that hurt.

I also have not been as stupid since. I have had lovers, relationships, even ones I thought could be the one. But I managed to be with people who at least could in theory love me if it worked, and who I could love properly, and if it didn't work out, we parted as friends mostly. I am still working it out of course, and one day, I hope there will be someone there. I just hope you don't hate them.

Finally, I began to grow up, and realised that what I was doing at uni wasn't for me. That day with Henri made me realise, talking about what I liked. I always liked farming, and animals, even as a kid. I changed to ag science, which was possible even for someone who did as bad in school as me. It's not easy, I am still no student, but I like it and that helps. One day, I hope to have a farm, and a place for you to ride your bike, and a horse. I want it to be good for you.

I guess when I got on this plane, I was a mess. As much as it is a joy to finally see you, after 5 years, there was a lot of pain there too. That's why I ended up writing this. Knowing how much my dad and me didn't talk, I wanted to think of all the things I needed to tell you as you grow up. All the missing pieces of the puzzle that will make things make sense. And if Im being honest, I wanted you to forgive me my mistakes. It was part letter, part apologia, part reminiscence. By now though, I don't feel that I want forgiveness. I did what I did because I knew no better. I made plenty of mistakes, as I've remembered writing all this down. But in the end, things have a strange way.

Like the time I got on the wrong part of a train and found two German girls and ended up in Hamburg. I got lost on the way to Berlin, and ended up with a last chance to keep Laerke in my life as a friend. I got lost on the way to life, but I found your mum, and through that, came you. That is never something I regret. It's the one thing I got right.

There are plenty of other regrets I know. When I found out that your mum was sick, I knew I hurt more than I ever had. I love Marj, my son. Please know that, even though we couldn't make it work until now. That she could be dying is another piece of shit in a world already full of it. She wouldn't tell me until she had to, when there was nothing left but the ending. I am glad I get this chance at least, while I can, to be there for her and prove I'm ready for the next part, and that she got a chance to hold the colt she wanted of only for a little time. She told me you looked like me at the same age, I just hope you grow up smarter.

Now I am ready, a little late, but ready. I am no longer the coward I was at 18, and I am ready to step up to the plate, for her, and for you. That starts with this trip back to London, and this letter, and when I bring you home with me when her time has come, it doesn't end.

Though I doubt I will ever give you this letter, or at least I am going to have to edit a fair bit if I do even when you are older (you can guess the bits), I think you need to know most of it somehow. I wish dad had talked to me more, and shared even his failings. Especially those; I may not have avoided them, but I would have felt like less of a loser for making those mistakes.And I wish someone had done more than just hand me a box of condoms as if that was all that you needed to know about sex. Sex is easy, love is hard, and I mastered one well before the other.

Some of what you need to know may seem like silly things, but all of it is part of the story as to who you are and where you came from. Like why we have a cat called Kitty, who I feed croissant every Sunday morning. He isn't white, he doesn't live in a bookshop, but he reminds me of one who was there when I was experiencing life in all it's painful mystery.

Or why I will take you to the art gallery, just to see the paintings and feel. If I get misty eyed looking at Monet, just forgive your dad his moments of sillyness, and blame a mare who stole his heart.

Or why when your time comes to go back to Europe, I will make you promise to check on a footbridge over the Canal St Martin, to see if a padlock is still there, a token left by two equines who were fated not to be but lived for it anyway, in a moment of calm between storms.

Some will be harder to understand. Like why you have four years' worth of birthday and Christmas presents waiting for you from a Grandma who hasn't seen you before and who wouldn't talk to your mum. She is over that now, and will come over to see you both before the end. She has grown too.

Some may take longer to understand, but will always be important.

Like why you have a bunch of aunties and uncles who will be there for ever, even though they aren't related. A Danish mare, now living in Stockholm. A French tiger in IT in Toulouse who talks too much, a wolf accountant with a husband and a pup of his own, or most of all a warm wise bear in Paris who still dreams of straight stallions. And a German pantheress in Berlin, or two German musicians now in Bremen and still very much in love. They all think the world of you, and want to be there when you have your own gap year, to make sure you still remember you are part European. I promised them I would, and to make sure you learn better French and German than me. That won't be hard. Harder will be stopping your godfather, a sweet Aussie bull, from pushing you to barrack for Essendon. If he succeeds, I will disown you (only joking)

Of course I will teach you the usual things, to kick a footy, bowl a cricket ball, ride a bike, and I will take you to the Royal Melbourne Show. But I will also teach you that harder things that won't make sense until later. Like how to talk to me even when you are down, how to make mistakes and get up and do it again, and how to be a friend, and how not to judge but to understand. And whoever you love, guy or girl or both, older or younger, to treat them right and with respect.

Most of all, I will tell you what a wise bear told me. I am proud of you, always. And it's ok to be lost, as long as you don't think you have to do it alone.

For my son, written from seat 73 K

Emirates from Melbourne to London.

From your dad Paul.