'Why don't you just go back to wherever you came from, eh Joe?' Violet's father squared up to him. He had always been shorter than him, but with the solid pugnacious strength of a bulldog. Joe didn't move.
'This is my home Jack,' he took a sip of the single malt Clive had poured for him. Randy hid his face, disappearing into the shadows of the bar now.
'It was your home,' Jack's moustache bristled above chipped teeth, stained from years of tobacco.
'No,' Joe took a deep breath, placed the glass on the bar, slipped the key from his pocket. 'It is my home,' he said slowly turning it in his fingers.
'Please Daddy ...' Violet cut in. She thought of all those lonely nights she had spent alone. He was back now, she could make it good again if only her father would leave it to her to break the news.



'Oh, so now your Momma's died, you've come back for the money like the big fella is that how it is?'
'No sir, it's not like that at all.' Joe's eyes focussed resolutely on the key in his hand.
'Then what is it? Why are you back here when we ...' Jack glanced at his daughter. 'When everyone has written you off?'
'This is my home,' he said quietly.
'If this is your home,' Jack raged, 'then what the hell are you going to do about your baby ...'