It had been a mistake to bare his soul. A big mistake.

Mike whirled round, swinging his feet over to the side of the bed, all the while battling the tumultuous feelings that were welling up inside him. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he refused to cry. Crying was for babies. And women.

‘You have no idea what it was like,’ he bit out. Had she ever gone to bed hungry at night? Or gone to school with no lunch, and wearing hand-me-downs that were too small? Or watched a little brother fade away before her eyes?

Her gentle hands on his shoulders almost unravelled him totally.

‘No,’ Natalie said softly. ‘I don’t. But I can imagine how unhappy you all must have been. You, your brother and your mother. Try to have some pity for her, Mike. Try to forgive.’

‘I can never forgive her,’ he grated out, his head shaking from side to side. ‘She told us how much she loved us. All the damned time. She’d cuddle and kiss us, but she never looked after us. Her actions spoke a lot louder than her words.’

‘She was sick,’ Natalie insisted. ‘And she had no support. Not everyone is as strong as you, Mike.’

‘Don’t make bloody excuses for her,’ he snapped. ‘She made her choices and Tony and I suffered for them.’

Natalie could understand his bitterness. Still, children did judge their parents harshly. She resolved not to be so critical of her own mum and dad in future. All in all, they’d been wonderful parents. Warm and loving and caring.

‘So what happened to her?’ she asked gently.

He laughed. A cold, empty sound. ‘She died of an overdose, of course. I was nine at the time. Poor little Tony was just six.’

‘What happened to you and your brother after that?’ Natalie asked. ‘Did your mum’s parents take you in?’

‘You have to be kidding. The authorities contacted them, but they said their drug-addict daughter and her filthy offspring were dead to them. So we were fostered out. To different homes. I didn’t get along with any of my foster families. So I ended up in a state institution.’

‘An orphanage, do you mean?’

‘Yeah. An orphanage.’

‘Oh, Mike…’

God, he couldn’t take any more of her pity. His head lifted, his back and shoulders straightening.

‘It wasn’t too bad,’ he lied. ‘There was this nice old guy there. A janitor. He was into computers in a big way and could see how much I liked them. Anyway, he gave me an old one of his one year for Christmas. Fred, his name was. Uncle Fred. I’ve never forgotten him.’

That part was true. He’d gone back years later to repay the man’s kindness, only to find out that Fred had died a few months before.

‘So that’s how you got started in computers.’