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a sense, set free by the knowledge. His family would be looked after. He had a substantial insurance policy, and Marci had her home in Worcester. They could sell the house in Albuquerque and he had substantial savings, along with a large block of company stock. Money would not be a problem.
    Marci saw the change in him as soon as he opened the door. Her face crumpled into tears. “Oh, no, ” she wailed, “is the news that bad? ”
    He nodded. “You ’re looking at a dead man walking, ” he said, “but I have come to terms with it. Now we must speak of how to make the best of a bad situation. ” He looked at her face, at the bottomless depths of her wonderful brown eyes, and he felt his resolve ebb away. She took him in her arms and all the horror and tension burst forth. He began to sob uncontrollably.
    They did not tell the children, although Susan looked knowingly at her mother. She was closest to her father, and sensed something was worse than her parents told her. Later she confronted her father. “Daddy, ” she said, “are you really ok ay ? ” Jimmy looked into another pair of brown eyes and felt a great sadness. He may never see his Susan grow up or see his grandchildren. He blinked back his tears. He had to be strong for them all. “I ’m ok ay, Princess. The best is yet to come. ”

    Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia —1962- 63
    Helen was right. Jack Riordan had tasted the apple, and it tasted damn good. Like most boys his age, he had been fascinated by the idea of sex for a couple of years now. Like most boys his age, he could hardly believe his parents had done this, were probably doing it right now! He used to li s ten for clandestine sounds of sexual activity without success. Like most other boys of his age, his great fear was that he would die before he had had a chance to experience it. At the end of his second to last year at school, he had become aware of his body and its needs. The first time it had ha p pened involuntarily, the result of a delicious dream. Now he was like a fox terrier in the presence of a rat. He could not wait to begin.
    Goondiwindi in 1962 was still a small country town of twenty- five hundred people. Most knew each other, and Jack, as the son and heir of a prominent station owner, was well known to most of the town, more so since the story of his proficiency with a rifle had passed into local lore. It was no handicap either that he was a good- looking young man, tall, and with thick black hair. Some thought he had a sligh t ly rakish air about him, one more attribute valued by the l o cal girls. No matter where you are — Angels love bad men .
    Jack was not old enough to possess a driving license, but he knew the local Sergeant of Police, a friend of his f a ther. Sergeant Ernie Molloy often came to Ballinrobe to fish and shoot ducks. He knew Jack was a proficient driver, and like with most bush kids, but warned him off the main roads. “And don ’t drive in town, either, ” he said. “If I catch you at it I ’ll give you a bloody good kick up the arse! ” Molloy had very large feet and very heavy boots, so for the next year, Jack used to drive to the edge of town and walk half a mile to the main street.
    The main entertainment for young people in town co n sisted of a couple of milk bars, run by gregarious Greek i m migrant families, and the local open- air picture theatre. Pubs were out of bounds — the legal drinking age was twenty- one — so the options available to a young courting couple were very limited, especially when they were so recognisable in the town. No matter where you went, you had to pass one of the five pubs. There the drinkers gathered on the verandas and hanging out of the windows had a good view of all the girls with their beaus, and were not above offering all kinds of helpful advice.
    Not all the girls were available. The patriarchs of the Greek families kept