hour ago."
On cue, Dad's highly polished old blue Bentley purrs past the window, the tires crunching on the gravel drive. It was a sound that evoked memories of my childhood, waiting for him to return home from work and feeling butterflies of excitement when he arrived.
Olivia and I walk to the door to greet him.
"My darling girls!" he exclaims, enveloping us both in a double hug. "How delightful to see you." He proffers two punnets of strawberries at Mum as she breezes past.
My father, Alan, is a tiny bit bonkers, but we love him dearly. By day, he's chairman of GBHome, one of those giant furniture companies that always has a sale on. He started at the bottom, put his motto "Don't work in a shop unless you like smiling" to good use, and worked his way up.
By night and weekends, he's an inventor. Not a very successful one, I might add, but it made for a fun childhood throughout which we tested various inventions of varying success. My favorite was a pair of slippers with mops as soles, perfect for doubling up as floor cleaners.
The highlight of my father's life had been when his car-drink-holder-cum-ashtray was accepted and featured in the Innovations catalogue. It sold only a couple of dozen, but Dad didn't care. In his mind, he'd won the jackpot.
"Remind me to show you my latest invention after lunch," he says, and Olivia and I share a secret, fond smile.
"Oooh, what is it?" I enthuse.
He goes pink with pleasure. "You'll have to wait and see."
Mum reemerges from the kitchen with a vast joint of lamb and places it in front of Dad. "There we are, Alan. Carve away." She plants a little kiss on the top of his head.
Placing an arm around the curve of her back, he pulls her towards him and gives a little squeeze. "Well done, dear. I'm sure it'll be delicious as always."
Watching them, I feel a warm swell of nostalgia for the family lunch we religiously share every Sunday, come rain or shine. It is a house rule that no one is to make any plans that would jeopardize the sacrosanct gathering, the glue of our family life. Around this table, we catch up properly on each other's week, who is doing what, who is up, who is down and, most importantly of all, who needs a bit of family TLC.
"So." Dad starts carving. "First things first. How are my gorgeous grandchildren?"
Olivia smiles. "Emily's got a tummy bug, but apart from that, they're both fine."
Dad turns his head towards me and raises his eyebrows questioningly.
I shrug. "Sorry, no grandchildren to report on. But little old me is just fine, thanks."
Mum spoons carrots onto my plate and looks at me pensively. I know what's coming.
"Any man on the horizon?" she asks casually, belying what I know is the razor-sharp intention beneath.
"Nope." I pop a new potato into my mouth with the sole purpose of disabling my jaw for further comment. I wasn't accounting for Olivia.
"But things might pick up soon, eh?" she says, giving me an encouraging smile.
Mum's eyes shoot up from her plate. "Oh?"
The potato is hotter than I thought, and I'm throwing it around my mouth, trying to make a "shut up" noise at the same time. To no avail.
"Yes," Olivia plows on. "She's joined an Internet dating service."
A deathly silence descends, as if she's just announced I'm now transsexual and changing my name to Josh.
After a few seconds, Mum glares at me direct. "Is that true?"
A large lump of gristly lamb has wedged in my throat and I swill it down with water, rapidly gathering my thoughts at the same time.
"Not strictly. Kara put an ad on the Internet without my knowledge. For my birthday . . ." I add as an afterthought.
"I see." Mum visibly relaxes a little. "So I presume you just had it removed," she says, as if my potential love life is simply a troublesome carbuncle.
At this point, I could simply lie and say yes, and that, blessedly, would be the end of the matter. But I find myself feeling faintly annoyed at her blatant disapproval.
"No. Everyone persuaded me I should at least
On cue, Dad's highly polished old blue Bentley purrs past the window, the tires crunching on the gravel drive. It was a sound that evoked memories of my childhood, waiting for him to return home from work and feeling butterflies of excitement when he arrived.
Olivia and I walk to the door to greet him.
"My darling girls!" he exclaims, enveloping us both in a double hug. "How delightful to see you." He proffers two punnets of strawberries at Mum as she breezes past.
My father, Alan, is a tiny bit bonkers, but we love him dearly. By day, he's chairman of GBHome, one of those giant furniture companies that always has a sale on. He started at the bottom, put his motto "Don't work in a shop unless you like smiling" to good use, and worked his way up.
By night and weekends, he's an inventor. Not a very successful one, I might add, but it made for a fun childhood throughout which we tested various inventions of varying success. My favorite was a pair of slippers with mops as soles, perfect for doubling up as floor cleaners.
The highlight of my father's life had been when his car-drink-holder-cum-ashtray was accepted and featured in the Innovations catalogue. It sold only a couple of dozen, but Dad didn't care. In his mind, he'd won the jackpot.
"Remind me to show you my latest invention after lunch," he says, and Olivia and I share a secret, fond smile.
"Oooh, what is it?" I enthuse.
He goes pink with pleasure. "You'll have to wait and see."
Mum reemerges from the kitchen with a vast joint of lamb and places it in front of Dad. "There we are, Alan. Carve away." She plants a little kiss on the top of his head.
Placing an arm around the curve of her back, he pulls her towards him and gives a little squeeze. "Well done, dear. I'm sure it'll be delicious as always."
Watching them, I feel a warm swell of nostalgia for the family lunch we religiously share every Sunday, come rain or shine. It is a house rule that no one is to make any plans that would jeopardize the sacrosanct gathering, the glue of our family life. Around this table, we catch up properly on each other's week, who is doing what, who is up, who is down and, most importantly of all, who needs a bit of family TLC.
"So." Dad starts carving. "First things first. How are my gorgeous grandchildren?"
Olivia smiles. "Emily's got a tummy bug, but apart from that, they're both fine."
Dad turns his head towards me and raises his eyebrows questioningly.
I shrug. "Sorry, no grandchildren to report on. But little old me is just fine, thanks."
Mum spoons carrots onto my plate and looks at me pensively. I know what's coming.
"Any man on the horizon?" she asks casually, belying what I know is the razor-sharp intention beneath.
"Nope." I pop a new potato into my mouth with the sole purpose of disabling my jaw for further comment. I wasn't accounting for Olivia.
"But things might pick up soon, eh?" she says, giving me an encouraging smile.
Mum's eyes shoot up from her plate. "Oh?"
The potato is hotter than I thought, and I'm throwing it around my mouth, trying to make a "shut up" noise at the same time. To no avail.
"Yes," Olivia plows on. "She's joined an Internet dating service."
A deathly silence descends, as if she's just announced I'm now transsexual and changing my name to Josh.
After a few seconds, Mum glares at me direct. "Is that true?"
A large lump of gristly lamb has wedged in my throat and I swill it down with water, rapidly gathering my thoughts at the same time.
"Not strictly. Kara put an ad on the Internet without my knowledge. For my birthday . . ." I add as an afterthought.
"I see." Mum visibly relaxes a little. "So I presume you just had it removed," she says, as if my potential love life is simply a troublesome carbuncle.
At this point, I could simply lie and say yes, and that, blessedly, would be the end of the matter. But I find myself feeling faintly annoyed at her blatant disapproval.
"No. Everyone persuaded me I should at least
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