Her submissive attitude towards David’s womanising would hardly endear her to the feminists of this world. Well, tough. She was no Germaine Greer. She had ‘made her bed’, as her mother used to say, and there was no one to blame but herself.
The music abruptly switched off. She nearly fell off the arm of the sofa.
‘What in God’s name are you doing?’ David’s annoyance sent a chill of dread through her.
She hadn’t heard him arrive home. Bang went her relaxing Saturday. ‘I’m dusting. What does it look like I’m doing?’
His expression conveyed just what he thought about her churlish response. ‘Get down. You’ll break your neck, you stupid woman. We pay a cleaner to do that.’
Such touching concern. At what point had ‘babykins’ become ‘stupid woman’? She climbed down from the sofa. ‘You’re home early?’
‘I wasn’t aware I needed your permission to come home.’ He switched on the TV.
She was about to point out that she’d been listening to music when she realised her feelings no longer mattered. ‘I was merely making an observation.’
He slung his leather jacket over the armchair and flicked onto Sky Sports. ‘Did you pick up my dry cleaning?’
She internalised a sigh. ‘Of course I did.’ When had she ever not? ‘They couldn’t get the stain out of your suede coat, I’m afraid.’
Annoyance dominated his handsome features. And he was handsome, there were no two ways about it: tall, his hair thick and dark with flecks of distinguished grey, broad muscular frame. He was a classic model of a man, chiselled and timeless. He’d fit right into the cast of Mad Men, both in looks and attitude. ‘Did you complain?’
Patricia unclipped the nozzle from the cleaner. ‘No, because they’d warned me when I dropped it off that it might not come out.’
‘I hope they didn’t charge you.’ He was as tight with money as he was with his affections. Well, towards her at any rate.
Before she could comment, the front door slammed. Amy came rushing into the lounge. ‘Mummy, are you here?’
‘In here, darling.’ She placed the hoover in its box. ‘Is everything okay?’
Amy didn’t see her father sitting in the chair. She rushed over, enveloping Patricia in a hug. ‘Guess what, Mummy? I’m getting married!’
Whatever Patricia’s initial reaction to this news might have been, it was overridden by David rising from the chair like a mythical creature emerging from the sea. ‘No, you most certainly are not, young lady.’
For the briefest moment Amy looked thrown. She clearly wasn’t expecting her dad to be home when she made her big announcement. But any doubt was fleeting, and her confident demeanour quickly returned. ‘Yes, I am, Daddy. Ben asked me to marry him and I said yes. This is what I want.’
‘It might be what you want, but it’s not happening.’ David turned back to the TV, his interest caught by a Chelsea goal. In his mind the conversation was over. He was used to winning arguments with very little resistance. Patricia thought him a fool if he imagined his daughter would be as easily dismissed as his wife normally was.
‘I’m sorry, Daddy. But my mind is made up.’ She turned to Patricia, taking her hands. ‘You’ll support me, won’t you, Mummy?’
Before Patricia could answer, David interrupted. ‘No, she won’t. Now stop being ridiculous.’ He pointed a finger, using the same tone he used with Patricia when she tried to stand her ground. ‘You are not getting married and that’s final. Instead you’ll concentrate on finishing your A levels, go to university as planned and stop being ridiculous. Do you hear me?’
Far from backing down, Amy calmly responded with, ‘I’m eighteen, I don’t need your permission. I love Ben and I want to spend the rest of my life with him.’
The veins in David’s temples throbbed. ‘You cannot possibly know what you want. You’re a child. Grow up and use your brain, you’re a smart girl.’
‘Smart enough to know what I want.’ Amy folded her arms.
Go, Amy! thought Patricia, before registering that perhaps she should be siding with her husband on this issue.
‘Clearly not.’ David took a step towards his defiant daughter. ‘And what’s more, I forbid you to see Ben again. It’s time I put my foot down. I’ve been too lenient. No boys until you’ve finished school.’
Her husband could be such an arse at times. Fancy making such an ultimatum. Didn’t he realise that Amy would rebel against such a dogmatic approach?
Amy turned to her mum, her golden hair lit up from the early evening sun spilling through the windows. Her blue eyes flickered with love, hoping for support.
David’s stare was no less intense, although it dared Patricia not to side with him. She was caught in the middle.
It was a while before she found her voice. ‘Shouting isn’t getting us anywhere. We need to sit down and discuss the situation in a sensible manner, like the adults we all are.’
‘There’s nothing to discuss.’ David wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable. ‘She is not getting married.’
‘Yes, I am!’ As Amy had inherited her stubbornness from her father, Patricia thought David could hardly complain that his feisty daughter wasn’t backing down.
‘Both of you, please. This isn’t helping.’ She squeezed Amy’s hand. ‘Sit down, darling.’
‘I’m fine standing,’ David said.
Instead of pointing out that he wasn’t the ‘darling’ she’d been referring to, Patricia led Amy over to the sofa. ‘This has rather come out of the blue, sweetheart. You can’t expect us not to react to such life-changing news or query your decision.’
‘But he’s not querying it, Mummy. He’s telling me no without even hearing my side of things.’
‘I don’t need to hear your side!’
Patricia placed her palm gently against Amy’s cheek, ensuring she had her daughter’s attention. ‘I’m listening, sweetheart. Talk to me. Tell me your side of things.’
Ignoring various interruptions from her dad, Amy raced through her and Ben’s plans for the future. ‘He adores me, Mummy. He has our whole lives planned out. We’ll marry in the summer, spend a year travelling, he’ll go off to film school and I’ll go to university. In four years’ time we’ll move to Hollywood where he’ll get a job working at one of the film studios and I’ll set up a dance company.’
David advanced on the sofa. ‘Dancing is a hobby.’
Amy glared at him. ‘It’s what I want to do. To become a famous choreographer and run my own dance company.’
David laughed, a mean, hard sound. ‘You need to stop daydreaming and focus on your academic studies. Aim for a career in something useful, like teaching or nursing. Something that won’t waste your talents.’
‘My talent is for dancing. Something you’d be aware of if you’d taken any interest and come to watch me compete.’
‘Dancing is not a proper career.’ He banged his fist down on the back of the sofa. ‘And neither is film-making. How deluded are the pair of you? This is nonsense.’
Amy returned to Patricia, ignoring her dad as if he’d never spoken. ‘In ten years’ time Ben will be directing films, I’ll be the successful owner of a chain of dance studios and we’ll be financially secure, with three kids, a dog, a convertible and living happily ever after.’
David swore, something he rarely did. ‘Of all the idiotic, childish …’
Patricia tuned out.