HEARING THE CAR door slam, Don got out of bed and, tiptoeing to the window, he pulled the curtain back a fraction. The security light came on as Emma walked to the gate. He really would have to try and get the thing adjusted. He'd only meant it to sense motion inside the garden, not burst into life at every passing car, cyclist or pedestrian, not to mention cat, dog and rabbit. Luckily there wasn’t actually a great deal of passing traffic of any kind but still. He wasn’t sure what he was actually looking for but he knew he felt uneasy. Perhaps he never should have agreed to Luke staying here for any length of time. He was undoubtedly a good-looking young man with obvious charms. Especially when he wandered around in just his underpants half the time.
Emma didn’t appear to be veering off in the direction of the summerhouse and Don couldn't see Luke emerging from it either and started to draw back. But some bushes just within view were moving and a figure stepped out onto the path in front of Emma. Don could just see them both if he stood on tiptoe. He thought about pulling up a chair to stand on so that he could get a better look but he didn’t want to disturb Grace.
Some sort of altercation or at least difference of opinion was taking place but he couldn't hear what was being said. Not even faintly. Don wished he'd left the window open instead of closing it earlier. Luke was gesturing down the garden and Emma was shaking her head. This went on for a short time. They must be whispering. Once Luke had looked up at the house as he harangued Emma (for this must be what he was doing) and Don froze then Luke looked back at Emma.
At length, Emma obviously relented since the pair walked off down the garden together. Don felt his blood pressure rising. That Luke, a guest in his house, would try to….try to….exactly what he wasn’t sure. Persuade Emma to go and view his etchings? The phrase was quaint and antiquated but it was how he saw the picture just at this point. His daughter was being invited to the young man's sleeping accommodation on some pretext and then the young man would wear her down and seduce her. That would be how it would happen.
He didn’t think he was a hypocrite, not really. But he hugely now regretted his initial attitude that Emma should be more grown up about things when, on first arriving home, she had been so stroppy at finding him and Grace in a clinch in the kitchen. Now that seduction was imminent, he had reverted to a concerned and protective parent.
The door of the summerhouse was open but they didn’t go in. Instead they sat in the moonlight on the chairs outside in conversation. Don continued to observe, frowning.
"Don, what are you doing?"
Don jumped guiltily. "Nothing."
"Yes you are. What is it?" How long Grace had been awake watching him he didn’t know.
"There's someone in the garden."
"Surprise, surprise. Oh yes, I remember, Luke's living down there at the moment."
"He and Emma are sitting at that little table talking."
"Yes? And?"
"Well what are they doing together at this time of night?"
"You said they were talking."
"Well what are they talking about?"
"Does it matter? Come back to bed."
"But they hardly know each other." Don realised he was whining a little.
"Well perhaps they've got to know each other. They're similar ages. Now they might be going to the same university town. It's nice that they hit it off."
"But Emma didn’t want to go down the garden with him."
"How do you know that?"
"He had to persuade her. That's what it looked like anyway."
"He went to see his dad tonight didn’t he," said Grace. "Perhaps he's telling her about that."
"Why would he want to tell her about that?"
"I don’t know," said Grace in exasperation. "Please come back to bed."
"But he might….they might…."
"OK. And what would you do about it if they did?" Grace threw aside the bedclothes on his side and patted the bed. "Come back to bed. Hmm?"
Don sighed, dropped the curtain and rather huffily did as she said.
"Grace," he said in the dark after a time, "what made Greg think Luke had had a girl to stay for the night?"
"He found an empty condom packet in the bathroom bin. He said Luke denied all knowledge."
"Well he would wouldn't he."
"I CAN'T REALLY believe it."
"Well neither could I but she was there all right," said Luke. "And the house stank of cigarette smoke. I reckon she's living there."
"But, I mean, in what capacity?"
"Good question. I didn’t even know they knew each other."
Emma kept quiet about that. "But," she said, "he must be at least twice her age! It's pretty gross isn't it?"
"Bloody disgusting if that's what they're up to."
Neither of them said any more, both no doubt thinking in varying degrees of detail about Alex's boyish underfed little body inside the nondescript androgynous clothing. Or worse; outside it.
Without knowing it, they were both coming to roughly the same point from different directions. An uneasiness crept over Emma and she frowned. Alex in combination with Greg. Alex's insinuations in the hands of someone like Greg. Luke was thinking something similar. He wasn’t aware of the insinuations but he knew what Alex was like. And he certainly knew what his father was like. It was a potentially poisonous mixture.
"I don’t think Alex knows about us," said Emma at length.
"Probably not. If she did she'd tell my dad and then he'd've been bound to have immediately told your father. Anything to cause as much trouble as possible. I wonder how long they've known each other. Not long I assume."
"Hmm." Emma yawned. "Well I'd better get off to bed. Goodnight Luke."
"`Night." He didn’t ask her to stay. There was obviously some chance that her father might realise. He thought he had caught sight of a curtain twitching earlier. Best not to upset him.
DON FAINTLY HEARD the second back door being shut and then after a short time the sound of the old toilet being flushed.
"Satisfied?" said Grace.
Don grunted. He was conscious that again it came out as a whine and also that he shouldn't be communicating by making noises. But it proved nothing to him. Who was to say that Luke hadn’t stealthily crept in with his daughter and was downstairs even now. Perhaps he should go and investigate. It would do no harm surely. In sympathy with the notion, Don’s body automatically stiffened, ready for action.
"Don’t even think about it!” said Grace.
IT WAS ANOTHER brilliant day. Luke had got up fairly early as usual and had carried out his exercise routine on the dewy grass in the open air. It was that much more exhilarating outside looking over the fields to the woods. He had made himself a cup of tea using the kettle donated by his mother and later had enjoyed a full cooked breakfast delivered to him by her. He had sketched for an hour and then gone out for a five mile run along the country lanes. He had passed Don’s car on the road obviously going somewhere and they had raised their hands to each other.
Back at the summerhouse, he saw a text from Emma sent about five minutes previously saying that her dad was out for the rest of the morning. It was still only just after ten a.m. He texted back that he thought Don might be onto them and that they’d better skip it this time. He hadn't lived all his life with a conniving bastard like his dad without learning to suspect people and their motives. Sure enough within ten minutes Don’s car turned up. Thirty minutes later he got a text from Emma: “He said the meeting had been cancelled. Clever dick!”
He texted back: “You should know all about that! You should delete your messages.”
Emma did so and then got ready for work.
THE LAST TWO DAYS, Emma had been asked to wait at tables again. It was quite a relief even if it would also mean taking breaks with Alex. She reasoned that she had to be prepared for the fact that Alex would know that Luke was living at her house now. And that Alex would also know that she, Emma, would know through Luke that Alex was….living with Greg? Maybe. But Alex was a slippery specimen and might well say she had just been visiting her preferred stepfather, which indeed perhaps she had been. Alex might also assume that Luke now knew about her mother’s relationship with Greg, that Emma would have told him.
Alex was of course a master of devilment, but Emma wondered as she cleared tables and laid places whether she couldn't pre-empt Alex’s attempts to cover her tracks and get more information out of Alex. Therefore at the first break she wasted no time saying to Alex once they were on their own:
“Luke’s living with us now. It’s such a pain. And a slob as you said. Honestly, he can't take a hint. He obviously thinks he’s God’s gift! I avoid him as much as possible but I was wondering if that little room in your house might still be free for the rest of the summer. I can't put up with it much longer!”
“Oh,” said Alex, “I rather thought you liked him. But actually, my own room’s going begging for at least the next three or so weeks if you’re interested.”
“How much?”
“Well, I pay three twenty a month. So, pro rata, it’d be….” she got out an iPhone and punched some numbers in, “just over seventy three pounds a week. For three weeks that works out at two hundred and twenty one pounds.”
It was a new iPhone, very expensive-looking and Emma wondered if sugar-daddy had paid for it.
“Oh, come on,” she said, thinking that if Alex was taking this seriously, she would have over-stated her monthly rental and expect a bit of bartering. “You obviously need to give me some discount. One fifty max.”
“You’ve got to be joking! It’s a nice house and we have some real laughs. Fifty quid a week is ridiculous!”
“So why have you left then?”
“It’s just temporary. I don't suppose it’ll last very long.”
“OK, so it’s temporary. You can't expect to get the full weekly rate. I’d be helping you out wouldn't I?”
Alex had gone silent and sat slouched in her chair, puffing and apparently thinking and looking at her iPhone. In fact, it looked as though she might be reading a text. Then she sat up, threw her fag down, got up and crunched it underfoot. “No, we’d better leave it,” she said. “You’ll just have to put up with Luke’s attentions for the time being.” Alex walked off.
She was such a player, Emma thought. I wonder if she rattled me. But at least for thirty seconds or so, it had seemed as though Alex had taken it seriously and been prepared to sub-let her room for a few weeks which must mean that she was living somewhere else. Emma knew she was no good at subterfuge. It seemed likely she’d given herself away somehow or other. Or else, Alex was just too suspicious to trust anyone properly. With an up-bringing like she’d had, this didn't seem unlikely. Or indeed, she might for some reason have to go back to the shared house sooner rather than later. Or maybe she’d had a better offer for the room than fifty pounds a week. Perhaps that was what the text was about. Who could say with Alex?
Emma spent several more breaks with Alex when Alex chatted generally with her. If Emma tried to introduce again the subject of a sub-let of Alex’s room in the shared house, Alex expertly diverted the conversation to something else, something completely inconsequential. A film she’d seen, TV programmes, gossip about other staff at the restaurant, her mother’s latest boyfriend. Anything. Emma was no match for her but she wasn't naïve enough not to realise that Alex had some sort of agenda. It came to her that Alex wanted to be seen talking to her. About anything. Alex leaned in towards Emma and whispered when saying these apparently insignificant things, giving them a semblance of importance and subterfuge to any casual observer. Perhaps Greg was directing her to do so but if so why? Or perhaps it was nothing; Emma’s imagination running away with her again.
However yet again Emma felt that she was being hopelessly manipulated by Alex and wished she hadn't made her earlier pitch for taking over the rented accommodation. She felt that Alex knew perfectly well that she wouldn't have wanted the room anyway even if a price had been agreed. She had been completely out-manoeuvred by Alex without even finding out anything concrete at all. She should instead have offered to spend a drunken girly evening with Alex and, during the course of it, wheedled some admission out of her about her relationship with Greg. But instead, she’d chosen a stone cold sober fifteen minute restaurant waitress’s break to try to solicit information from an expert. Bugger!
As usual, it was impossible to fathom Alex’s designs or motives. And as before, Emma was dreaming away her waitressing shift! She sighed, squared her shoulders and adopted a fixed smile as she went to take the next order.
Later as she was collecting her bag from where the staff hung up their stuff, she reflected that it wasn't at all secure. Anyone could go into your bag or pockets and take anything. They ought to be provided with lockers. She’d never bothered before but today she suddenly felt uneasy and vulnerable. She decided to keep her debit card wallet in a pocket of her work clothes from now on or not bring it with her at all, nor her purse. That just left her house keys but she wasn't sure how she could stow those about her person while working. They were quite heavy on the key ring. They would weigh down her work skirt and create an unsightly bulge pulling it out of shape. The obvious solution came to her as Alex was collecting her own stuff and telling Emma in an unnecessarily conspiratorial way about her tips that evening. Emma decided she would bring just her second back door key with her, thread a length of ribbon through the hole and hang it around her neck.
EARLIER THAT AFTERNOON, Don had padded guiltily to Emma’s room, looked around and then had gone in and shut the door. Luke had his own key to the house but it was unlikely he would come in. When he came in to have a shower it was usually during the early evening by which time his mother had come home. He obviously felt more comfortable venturing into the house when his mother was there.
Don hated to do this, but he felt that it was essential to make sure that Emma wasn't being taken advantage of by a young man living on their premises. He was therefore that afternoon going methodically through Emma’s room for evidence. He’d put the bins etc. out last Friday and now cursed himself for not having gone thoroughly through them. But that didn't mean to say that fresh evidence might not have accumulated since then.
This wasn't like him he knew. He didn't like to pry. Emma had been away at university for a full educational year and her affairs were her own business. It was just that he felt responsible. He had started a full-on relationship with another woman after years of asexual co-habitation with Carol. Emma had chanced upon them in intimate circumstances. Don, on re-considering, realised that his and Grace’s display in the kitchen had been overtly sexual and not really acceptable to have been seen by a young impressionable teenager, particularly his own daughter. It was terribly wrong that she had had to come back for her summer break and witness such a display in her home.
Emma’s reaction suggested that she was probably still a virgin herself. What she had seen might have spurred Emma to think that she had to be at least as sexually free to follow her urges. Or worse, if she didn't actually have any urges, then to feign some. That promiscuity was the appropriate course to follow. If he had caused his daughter to be influenced in a direction that didn't come naturally to her, then he was very sorry indeed. But how, he reasoned, could he take any steps to get her to backtrack from that path without finding out if she’d followed it at all.
Don therefore started on her pockets, going through the garments in her makeshift wardrobe and the coats hanging up on the hook on the door and outside in the passage. He sifted through the bins, opening any discarded envelopes or bags and peering into them. He searched her shoes lined up in a row on the floor under the hanging clothes. He looked behind her books aligned on makeshift shelves fashioned from larger tomes with thin planks of wood placed on top of them.
He even took some books out that felt a bit thicker than they ought to be and hung them up and shook them in case any might have had individual foil wrappers between the covers. However all that fell out were hand-written notes apparently about cells and bacteria that he couldn't understand. He hoped he was putting them back in the right order.
He felt terrible doing this but he needed to know. She was after all only eighteen. She was young for her educational year already and had been put up a year. She’d been studious, possibly owing to her mother’s condition and the serious air about the house. She had been young to go to university but Don hadn't worried about her. He hadn't thought anything about sex or sexual gratification for years on end himself. But he had himself suddenly introduced a different atmosphere into the house and….he felt responsible for any change it might have wrought to what would otherwise have been Emma’s normal steady unhurried development.
Finding nothing so far, Don went over to the bed. He pulled back the covers and looked for any signs of sexual activity but there was none. No marks, no stains. But of course he thought, Luke used condoms! But condoms had packaging; metallic sleeves. They would be somewhere. He put his hand down the back of the bed, resting his head on the pillow as he did so. He moved his hand along the side of the bed, straining, with his head on the bottom sheet. It was a divan style bed with an enclosed base otherwise he would have burrowed under the bed. Before finishing with the bed, he put his hands under the pillows and in the pillow slips and felt about. Nothing!
There was a small table next to the bed but he couldn’t see anything of significance on or under it, just books and face cream and a hair brush and other wretched paraphernalia.
Frustrated, he pulled the bedclothes back into position and straightened the books and went and looked in the toilet next door. Condoms sometimes wouldn't go down. But there were no giveaway floaters in the loo.
Aha, he suddenly thought. And he rushed outside through the second back door to the manhole cover in the path outside the wall where the old toilet was. Grasping the handles, he heaved at it but the cover wouldn't give at all. He tried again and again but without any result. He wasn't going to give up! He went and got a steel rod from the garden shed, put it under one of the handles and, using all his strength, he managed to lever the cover up to a ninety degree angle. The heavy metal cover wavered for a second then went crashing down on the path. It made a helluva noise and Don looked over at the summerhouse but couldn't see that it had attracted any attention. He lay on the path and practically buried his head in the inspection chamber but there were no tell-tale condoms visible along the concrete base so far as he could see in either direction.
He got up and put the drain cover back. Luckily neither it nor the path had suffered any damage. The house was on a septic tank. Don wondering whether to take a look in that but he abandoned the idea. The septic tank was in the ground to the rear of the summerhouse. Luke might, probably would, notice him and, while there was nothing wrong with going and inspecting one’s septic tank, his reasons for doing so he felt sure would be writ clear across his face by now for anyone to see. He went inside instead, washed his hands and arms, and stomped off to his study.
LUKE HAD WATCHED FROM his summerhouse Emma being dropped off the night before and letting herself into the house. He had wanted quite badly to go and visit her but didn't. It would be asking for trouble and she would be tired anyway. He thought about texting but just sighed and went back into the summerhouse and, by the dull light from the table lamp, he carried on with a medium sized charcoal drawing of Emma pictured from an angle lying naked on a rumpled bed looking up at him. He only worked on it when he thought he would be safe from interruption by Don or his mother or even by Emma who didn't know about the drawing and he wasn't sure he would ever show it to her. Or of course anyone else for that matter.
He was doing it from memory but he was sure he had got the face right. Yes, he thought as he stepped back, it was unmistakably Emma. The drawing had about it a pleasing fuzziness as he had had to work on it mostly in the half light. He might perhaps draw another version not so obviously Emma to use in his submission to Northampton uni. He was working flat out to get enough work together for that. He hoped also to be able to go home soon and retrieve some of his work. He would tell his father it was for an exhibition. Any other father would have been proud and pleased but Greg was such a wanker! Luckily he had plenty of photos on his laptop to help make a decent portfolio. Perhaps the uni would be understanding if he explained his circumstances.
After a time he yawned and, hanging a cloth loosely over the piece, he went and cleaned his teeth, used the Kampa Khazi, splashed water over his face and hands and fell onto his bean bag bed where he lay and thought of Emma.
LUKE WAS STILL thinking about Emma when he awoke early the next morning. He was recalling the morning after the night with her at his house in his own bed. It had been wonderful. Well worth the monumental amount of hassle he had got from his dad about the empty condom packet in the bathroom. He was breathing quickly as he thought about it, his body reacting accordingly. He thought Emma would have her period by now which would mean they could do it without a condom. He licked his lips in anticipation and swallowed.
It was still very early. His mother wouldn't be up for at least another hour. He stepped out of the summerhouse and cast an eye over the fields to the rear, noting the beauty of the band of fine mist lying irregular and low between the ground and the branches of the small copse of trees signifying that it was going to be another hot day. The scene was captivating with a field of cattle off to the right and in between another field striped gold with stubble from the ripe corn that had been growing there before it was harvested. In the distance beyond, over a rise, a church spire and some roofs hinted at human habitation and activity. The scene was entirely rural and timeless and utterly beautiful. He almost stopped then and there to get the bones of it down on paper before the mist evaporated and the day proper began.
But another more insistent call was urging him to turn the other way. In the middle of summer, it was already light with a pink blush still reflecting off everything and the birds were singing away. The house looked quiet and closed, curtains drawn, no lights on inside, no movement at all. He would he decided chance it, both an encounter with Don and, if it turned out that way, a rejection from Emma. If he was very quiet and careful he judged the former to be unlikely. And as to the latter, he sent Emma a quick text which he hoped might awaken her and be read, lest she might otherwise mistake his entering her bedroom unannounced for a burglar and scream the house down. Not a good idea!
DON HAD PASSED a broken and troubled night. He wanted to tell Grace about his fears and apprehensions, about his guilt at the effect their own relationship had had on Emma, the effect it might have had on her attitudes and behaviour and what he had done yesterday as a result, rifling through his daughter’s things. It was all terribly wrong. But he hadn't told her. She would probably have been appalled as he himself was at what he had done yesterday. Further than that though, she might think he regretted starting his relationship with her which couldn't be further from the truth, but that was how she might interpret his worries and actions if he didn't express himself very well. And she might also feel that her son was being cast in the role of a vile seducer, which actually was in fact rather how Don saw it in his mind, though whether any seduction had taken place was in doubt.
As sleep was impossible, Don whispered to Grace that he was going downstairs to do an hour or so’s work, kissed her head and left the room quietly. He went to his study first to switch on his PC before going to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. He had filled the kettle and was about to switch it on when the sounds reached his ears. He knew immediately. Possibly Emma was having a bad dream but he really didn't think so. He crept to the back of the house and stood silently listening. It was quite unmistakable. He put his hands over his face and remained standing like that for a moment before he crept back to the kitchen.
IT WAS LIGHTER NOW as Luke tiptoed to his summerhouse. The tiptoe-ing wasn't so much to keep quiet but because his feet were bare and the grass was damp and a little cold underfoot despite the continuing heatwave. He frowned, noticing through the open door that the drawing of Emma was uncovered. He could swear that he had put an old piece of material over it the night before and hadn't touched it this morning, but the cloth must have not been far enough over the easel and fallen off. Had he looked harder he would have noticed that one of the chairs was missing from around the table in front of the summerhouse. But he felt so happy. Ecstatic. He knew quite well that this was necessarily what sex did to you; the physiological and chemical changes and effects were specific and unavoidable. But all the same he felt wonderful and he didn't care why.
Luke walked slowly into the summerhouse and stood facing the drawing, looking at it both critically as a piece of work and admiringly because it was Emma.
His mouth was silently framing the words “beautiful Emma” when he heard a quiet noise behind him. He knew what it was straight away but he didn't turn around. If her father was going to come here and remonstrate with him, then he, the father, would have to make clear his business. Luke wasn't going to hand the father a stick with which to beat him with no effort on the part of the father. A large part of Luke’s upbringing had been devoted to dealing with parental tantrums by, of course, his own father, or rather standing by and watching these episodes and learning how not to behave himself. Not reacting caused the greatest distress though laughing seemed to stoke it up even further. So Luke stood and looked at the picture of Emma as Don sat and looked at Luke.
The stalemate had to come to an end at some point. At length Don said:
“What the fuck do you think you’re getting up to with my daughter?” He hardly ever swore but he thought that this would be a language that Luke would recognise and respond to. And he felt like it.
“Sorry,” said Luke still not turning. “You’ll have to make yourself clearer. Emma has other roles than merely being your daughter. She’s an individual in her own right. And what do you mean by ‘getting up to’?” Luke had assumed his public school accent as he knew it intimidated some people. It drove his dad mad in certain circumstances.
Don wasn't going to be fazed by this cool young man. “You know perfectly well what I mean. You’re having sex with her. She’s only eighteen. I think you are taking advantage of the fact that you are able to live here by entering into a physical relationship with a young girl who has little experience and is living in close proximity to you. She may appear to want to be doing the things you do together but girls of her age have a lot of pressures on them, pressures to conform to what they think they should be doing. And also I freely admit, I haven't been the best role model for her just lately. She wasn't prepared to find your mother and I having anything more than a companionship in our latter years. I think that’s what she was expecting. But that doesn't mean that some young man should waltz in here and take advantage of the situation.”
This somewhat took the wind out of Luke’s sails. What was it Emma had said when she’d met him at the Duck and Lizard. “Of course I’d been told he was living with someone but I’d just thought it would be a sort of granny type person. But instead….the way they are together….”
Luke himself had been furious at the thought of his mother and a man being intimate. And he still was. It sickened him. Like Emma, he felt that only young people had the right to have fun in bed. Old people ought to give in gracefully before they became objects of pity and derision. These thoughts however couldn't very well be politely expressed and it did slightly worry him now that Don had reminded him about the nauseating fact that Don and his mother enjoyed having sex together that Emma was just trying to keep up with them.
But he knew really that it wasn't that. He knew that she had been inexperienced but that he had, through patience and uncritical passion, enabled her to reach a potential she hadn't known before. He knew this more or less for certain. And that now, she really loved to have sex with him.
However he couldn't say these things to Don. He couldn't say that she hadn't been a virgin, that she wanted to have sex with him, that it was she not he who dictated the pace and largely decided if he could enter her room and her bed. It would be improper and unfair to Emma. In another era he might have declared his honourable intentions, his undying love for Emma and his wish to marry her. Perhaps that would satisfy a father. In an historical drama it might. In today’s world however it would be laughable. So instead he said:
“You put me in an impossible position. I can't give you any assurances or in decency tell you the things that might make you feel that the relationship is entirely consensual and is in no way one-sided. I can't help you I’m afraid, except that I don't think you need to worry that you’re to blame for it.”
Don was flabbergasted. He felt he had been verbally out-ranked and out-manoeuvred. The little speech put him in mind of a Jane Austen novel. You just didn't expect to hear this sort of talk from a twenty year old male. Where had he acquired such flowery language? Not from his father definitely. That public school presumably. Though his father might have had something to do with the confidence with which the speech was delivered.
Don shook his head. He wasn't pleased, not at all and he saw no reason to give this union his blessing, but he realised the weakness if his position. He wondered in fact if his having brought the thing into the open would now mean that Luke would be downstairs every night sleeping with his daughter. He shuddered at the thought and decided that probably he’d been foolish to take issue with Luke at all. Grace had implied that there wouldn't be much he could do about it if Emma and Luke were consorting but at that time he hadn't known that they were so it was possible to think then that he might have some input and influence. Clearly he didn't. He knew that if he opened his mouth again, he would just make things worse. Therefore he got up and was about to walk out when Luke turned around.
Don had to admit that Luke was a magnificent specimen, standing there in his cut off jeans and not much else. He could have graced the pages of any fashion catalogue. Don resented the fact that, though he struggled not to acknowledge it, if he had had a son himself, he would have wanted him to be like Luke. Really who wouldn't. But that didn't make it any better. Don waited. He could guess what was coming.
“You took my mother away from my father,” said Luke, looking cold and angry. “You split our home up.” Don winced. “If it hadn't been for you, I know she wouldn't have left. If she hadn't started to go to that church, she would never have met you.”
“It wasn't like that.”
“Oh really, what was it like then?”
“I’m not going to say anything against your father Luke, but your mother had already left him before I made contact with her. I know you were away at the time. She had good reason to leave him. But she didn't come to me. I had to track her down and offer her a refuge.”
Luke was uncertain. His father he knew was a bastard, but for that matter, he didn't know Don well. Don might be a slippery sod underneath all that surface calm and urbane manner. He might be making this up. Or he might have subtly influenced his mother to leave. He didn't like what Don was implying. The use of the word “refuge” had an ominous ring to it. He didn't want to think about his father being violent towards his mother.
“Why should I believe you?” he said. “My parents had been married for nearly thirty years. Why do you expect me to believe that she meets you and then suddenly she’s upped and left my father with no input from you at all and that within no time the two of you are living together?”
“Well that’s what did happen in a nutshell. Your mother and I had only ever met at the church. I think we liked each other.” Don looked down at the ground. The withdrawal of eye contact wasn't lost on Luke. Don went on, “Mostly we’d only spoken about superficial things.” He was going to say that he hadn't spoken to her about leaving her husband, but of course he had said it in a roundabout way after the Christmas night service. “I hadn't been much to the church after Christmas because of Carol my wife’s illness and death. I was going to start to go again regularly. And I did. But after a few weeks Grace wasn't there one Sunday or the next. I thought,” he hesitated, “I thought she might need help and made an effort to find her. It turned out she’d left your father and I offered that she could come and stay here if she needed to, and she did need somewhere to stay so she came here.”
“So,” said Luke with a lift of his head, “if in your eyes the male is always predatory, why shouldn't I think that you took advantage of the situation, took advantage of my mother’s position and her vulnerability?”
This was a question. Don sighed. He’d been well and truly outflanked. He wondered if Luke played chess. Accordingly he parried. “Luke, your mother and I are older. Emma on the other hand is only eighteen.”
“And I’m only twenty. I can't see what that has to do with anything.”
“Well I think it has. In the States you know eighteen is the age of consent. Under that age it’s a crime. It’s thought that under that age people are not ready for a physical relationship. And by extension that once people reach eighteen they are not suddenly going to be ready either.”
“Thanks for that but we’re in England. And here the age is sixteen. If the Yanks are buttoned up about it, that’s their problem. There’s no reason for us to be. But if I’ve taken advantage of Emma, then you’ve done the same to my mother.”
“The two situations are very different.”
“I don't think so. You don't want Emma to sleep with me. I and my father don't want my mother to sleep with you.”
“This is getting silly,” said Don. It was starting to lean towards the assumption that women were there to be picked off at will or not according to a male’s inclination.
“I don't think so.”
“Yes it is,” said Don. “It’s becoming sexist. All that concerns me is Emma’s age and inexperience. I don't think it’s appropriate that you and she should be….consorting. And that’s my view. Clearly I can't do anything about it. But I’m not going to say to you or anyone else that I’m happy about it.”
Luke considered saying that a lot of father’s would be glad to know their daughter was having a good time in a safe environment with someone he knew. But he didn't. He started to wonder in fact why Don didn't feel like that. He began to have doubts about Don and why he might be possessive of his daughter. He didn't know that Don was not a man’s man, that having spent most of his life surrounded by only females, Don was automatically suspicious of and to some extent uncomfortable with other men. He didn't know that Don had largely brought Emma up single-handedly right from practically the moment of her birth and still partly saw her as a baby.
With that, Don walked out, and went back to the house without saying any more.
Luke watched him go, by no means feeling that he had won or scored any points. He just thought he had reacted in the only way he could in the circumstances and that his arguments were entirely reasonable. It was the father who was being pig-headed, albeit that his manner was cold and quiet without the ranting and fuming Luke’s own father would have gone in for.
But he knew Emma was already uncomfortable with the secrecy. If she now felt the harsh cold wind of her father’s disapproval, she may want to end the relationship. He didn't love her. Certainly not, and he knew they would both want to move on in due course. But for this time, their shared intimacy and the depth of their passion was almost akin to love. It wasn't far off and to sever it just at this point would hurt him a lot. Tear him apart in fact. For a time.
This was a young man’s take on closeness and physical love. It was nearly like romantic love but not quite. He didn't want permanence, or children or commitment. He just wanted her soft warm loving body curled around him as often as possible and to spend a great deal of his time with her. He didn't want any hassle and Emma herself didn't give him any. He was sure she felt exactly the same as he did. Nearly in love, but not quite.
He had an idea what he could try to do to cool things down and bring about a temporary halt to hostilities, or at least distance themselves from them.