only a few years older than me!
He runs through all the doors a university degree will open for me and I refuse to rise to the bait until he dares to use her as an example of where I want to be in ten years’ time.
‘Think about it, Anna. You could be like Jude. Educated, qualified, on an upward career path …’
‘… and sleeping with the boss, who’s twice my age?’
Dad’s face flushes an ugly shade of purple and I feel a prick of triumph. At last I’ve got to him. He fizzles out after that and I’m left feeling oddly disappointed. And mean. I’m so glad when my phone bleeps. Dad raises his eyebrows.
‘James?’
‘Um … yes.’
‘I’ll get the bill.’
He knows when he’s beaten.
Jem wants to know when I’ll be free. I text him back that I’ll meet him outside the bank in ten minutes.
Dad flips his card on the plate without bothering to see how much it is. I guess it doesn’t matter when it’s all on expenses. He pours more wine into his glass without offering me any.
‘Can I book you a taxi home?’ he asks politely, like he would to a very junior colleague.
‘No thanks. I’m meeting’
‘James. I thought you would be.’ He takes out his phone and calls a taxi for himself. It’s like he doesn’t care any more. He just wants to get home. To her.
We sit there in silence like two strangers. We’ve got nothing else to say to each other.
I want to say something to him. I want to say, ‘Don’t give up on me, Dad. Don’t stop caring about me. You see, it’s not as easy as you think, it’s not a straightforward choice. The truth is, I don’t know what I want. I think I do when I’m with Jem. But sometimes, when I’m alone, I can see what Zoe means when she says he’s controlling. I love him, I really do, but he can be quite persuasive, in the nicest possible way, of course. I don’t quite know how he does it …’
That’s what I want to say. Instead I say, ‘Dad?’ and he looks up at me and says, ‘Yes?’ and at last we connect. I open my mouth to speak to him properly, to tell him all this stuff that’s tearing me apart, and then a voice says, ‘Anna? Are you ready?’ and Jem is standing in front of me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask blankly and he says, ‘I saw you through the window.’
‘Don’t let me keep you,’ says Dad and he gets to his feet. ‘My taxi’s here.’ He gives me a peck on the cheek, then he’s gone.
Jem flops down into his vacant seat and picks up the bottle of wine. ‘Shame to waste it,’ he says and pours us both a glass. ‘Did you have a good time?’
Now Dad’s gone, I offload on to Jem instead. I don’t tell him my doubts about going to London with him. Instead I focus on Jude and how much I loathe her. Jem is a great listener. He calls for another bottle of wine and, fuelled by it, we spend a bitter-sweet half-hour pulling her apart, even though he’s never met her.
‘I hate her, I really do,’ I rant. ‘Waltzing into our lives like that, breaking up our home.’
‘Bitch,’ agrees Jem companionably.
‘She is a bitch! She’s totally vile. She told my dad I’m only going to London with you just to get at him.’
‘You’re not, are you?’
‘No, of course not. She’s just an …’
‘Evil bitch.’
‘Exactly. If you met her you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but she’s a right cow, she’s a liar and a cheat and she sees what she wants and just takes it, and she doesn’t give a stuff about anyone else …’
I continue ranting and raving, hardly pausing to take a breath, and Jem continues nodding and listening patiently without interrupting, except to insert the odd expletive that seems to encapsulate Jude perfectly.
At last I run out of steam and he takes my hand. ‘Better now?’
‘Not really.’ I hiccup sadly. ‘I hate her.’
‘I think I’ve got that.’
‘I hate him too.’ I don’t actually mean that, but it gives me a certain satisfaction to say it.
‘So?’
He runs through all the doors a university degree will open for me and I refuse to rise to the bait until he dares to use her as an example of where I want to be in ten years’ time.
‘Think about it, Anna. You could be like Jude. Educated, qualified, on an upward career path …’
‘… and sleeping with the boss, who’s twice my age?’
Dad’s face flushes an ugly shade of purple and I feel a prick of triumph. At last I’ve got to him. He fizzles out after that and I’m left feeling oddly disappointed. And mean. I’m so glad when my phone bleeps. Dad raises his eyebrows.
‘James?’
‘Um … yes.’
‘I’ll get the bill.’
He knows when he’s beaten.
Jem wants to know when I’ll be free. I text him back that I’ll meet him outside the bank in ten minutes.
Dad flips his card on the plate without bothering to see how much it is. I guess it doesn’t matter when it’s all on expenses. He pours more wine into his glass without offering me any.
‘Can I book you a taxi home?’ he asks politely, like he would to a very junior colleague.
‘No thanks. I’m meeting’
‘James. I thought you would be.’ He takes out his phone and calls a taxi for himself. It’s like he doesn’t care any more. He just wants to get home. To her.
We sit there in silence like two strangers. We’ve got nothing else to say to each other.
I want to say something to him. I want to say, ‘Don’t give up on me, Dad. Don’t stop caring about me. You see, it’s not as easy as you think, it’s not a straightforward choice. The truth is, I don’t know what I want. I think I do when I’m with Jem. But sometimes, when I’m alone, I can see what Zoe means when she says he’s controlling. I love him, I really do, but he can be quite persuasive, in the nicest possible way, of course. I don’t quite know how he does it …’
That’s what I want to say. Instead I say, ‘Dad?’ and he looks up at me and says, ‘Yes?’ and at last we connect. I open my mouth to speak to him properly, to tell him all this stuff that’s tearing me apart, and then a voice says, ‘Anna? Are you ready?’ and Jem is standing in front of me.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask blankly and he says, ‘I saw you through the window.’
‘Don’t let me keep you,’ says Dad and he gets to his feet. ‘My taxi’s here.’ He gives me a peck on the cheek, then he’s gone.
Jem flops down into his vacant seat and picks up the bottle of wine. ‘Shame to waste it,’ he says and pours us both a glass. ‘Did you have a good time?’
Now Dad’s gone, I offload on to Jem instead. I don’t tell him my doubts about going to London with him. Instead I focus on Jude and how much I loathe her. Jem is a great listener. He calls for another bottle of wine and, fuelled by it, we spend a bitter-sweet half-hour pulling her apart, even though he’s never met her.
‘I hate her, I really do,’ I rant. ‘Waltzing into our lives like that, breaking up our home.’
‘Bitch,’ agrees Jem companionably.
‘She is a bitch! She’s totally vile. She told my dad I’m only going to London with you just to get at him.’
‘You’re not, are you?’
‘No, of course not. She’s just an …’
‘Evil bitch.’
‘Exactly. If you met her you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but she’s a right cow, she’s a liar and a cheat and she sees what she wants and just takes it, and she doesn’t give a stuff about anyone else …’
I continue ranting and raving, hardly pausing to take a breath, and Jem continues nodding and listening patiently without interrupting, except to insert the odd expletive that seems to encapsulate Jude perfectly.
At last I run out of steam and he takes my hand. ‘Better now?’
‘Not really.’ I hiccup sadly. ‘I hate her.’
‘I think I’ve got that.’
‘I hate him too.’ I don’t actually mean that, but it gives me a certain satisfaction to say it.
‘So?’
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