‘Daddy’s devastated,’ I countered, thinking of Mother’s toy boy and his miserable daughter.
‘Folk will be talking,’ Mother persisted, ‘a young girl like you, cohabiting with a man like him.’
Somehow I restrained myself.
‘I’ve been back to uni,’ I said. ‘I’ve only come home tonight.’
‘Home,’ Mother scoffed. ‘I’m ringing you from home. You’re . . . Well where are you? Where’s that bastard hiding away?’
‘You kicked him out, Mother,’ I said, beginning to boil inside. ‘You kicked him out and took in frigging Lionel in his place. And that miserable cow, Emma.’
‘She’s called Amy.’
‘Ask me if I’m bothered what she’s called. She’s still a miserable cow. And I bet she’s still buggering up my scores on Mario 3.’
‘For goodness’s sake, Natalie, stop feeling so sorry for yourself; your daddy and I are history. So live with it. Accept it . . .’
I may be young but I am not a pushover. Not unless I want to be pushed over, if you get my drift.
‘Mother,’ I said, ‘I will never, ever accept what you’ve done to Daddy. And I will never accept the way you’re fucking Lionel in what’s supposed to be your marital bed. Is there a particular bit of “two-timing cow” that you don’t understand?’
‘We need to talk,’ my mother replied. ‘And we need to do it face-to-face, not like this. Okay?’
The idea wasn’t at all okay with me but I struggled for excuses.
‘There’s nothing you can say that’ll change the way I feel,’ I said limply.
‘You haven’t heard me out yet,’ she countered. ‘Let’s make it two tomorrow afternoon, while your dear darling Daddy is at the football.’
‘Football,’ I echoed. Daddy was a rugby league man . . . meaning Friday nights on Sky TV.
‘He was given a season ticket for United,’ Mother persisted. ‘We could meet in the Coffee Shop.’
‘United?’ My head reeled. ‘Nobody in their right mind watches them anymore.’
‘That’s exactly why he was given the ticket,’ said Mother. ‘Two o’clock, then?’
Desperate to seize some measure of control, I rejected the Coffee Shop. ‘Two is okay,’ I said, ‘but I’ll see you in the Masons’ Arms.’
‘Typical,’ said Mother. ‘Two o’clock; don’t be late.’
Chapter Four
Armed with a supersized glass of Chardonnay I returned to the bedroom. Daddy was sipping a rather large whisky but I didn’t comment. Compared to the weekend before he was as sober as sober could be. And my persuasive seduction skills would not be required. I could see that instantly.
I could also see his overall appearance had improved. Although he’d looked good last weekend he’d been unshaven with hints of crescent moons under his eyes. Now the crescents were gone altogether and the stubble on his chin was only twelve hours old.
Indeed now the stubble on his chin was sexy and very, very masculine.
Or was that just me wanting to feel it scraping against my mound?
‘You took your time,’ he said in greeting.
‘Ladies do not rush their toilet,’ said I, somewhat primly. ‘Have you sniffed my knickers yet?’
His blush confirmed that he had.
‘Drink your drink,’ I continued, dropping into the masterful role (somehow forcing the real wicked witch out of my head). If you’re a good boy and sup off you can do anything you like to me.’