Read Online Perfect Blend: A Novel by Sue Margolis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sue Margolis
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interested only in the business, his newspaper, and watching football. “One of the things that attracted me to your dad,” Val told Amy shortly after the split, “was the way he cared about all the injustice in the world, but in the end he didn’t care about the person closest to him.”
Val had always owned a tiny terraced cottage in Clapham. She used to live there before she married. Until recently she had rented it out, but when her last set of tenants moved out in January, she moved in.
The other day when Amy went to visit Val, she’d heard her on the phone to her best friend, Stella. Apparently, prior to her leaving Phil, they hadn’t had sex in months. “And when we did do it, there was never any foreplay. It was a case of brace yourself, Val, I’m coming in.” Amy had cringed and hotfooted it into the kitchen to make Charlie’s lunch.
There was no doubt in Amy’s mind that her father had treated Val badly. In recent years, she couldn’t remember her parents having a proper conversation. She was aware that Val tried to engage Phil in discussions about things she’d read about or heard on the news, but mostly—probably because he considered her interests trivial—he just grunted from behind his paper. Their conversation rarely went beyond Val asking him what he wanted to eat, which of them was going to phone the bloke about the guttering, or whether those briefs and socks strewn on the bedroom floor were destined for the wash or another wearing. Amy couldn’t help thinking that if she’d been Val, she’d have walked out, too. But Phil was still her dad. She loved him to bits. He’d always taken a massive interest in her life—without interfering—and wanted to know her news. They had proper conversations. Whenever she walked into the living room, he would immediately put down his paper or turn off the TV. His face would light up at seeing her. If she had a problem, he made time to listen. He was exactly the same with Victoria. It always upset Amy to think she had such a good relationship with her dad while he neglected Val, but if her mother was jealous, she never said a word.
Now that he was on his own, Phil was pretty much living on takeaway curries and KFC. The last time Amy visited, they’d sat in the kitchen. The area by the back door was covered in empty beer and wine bottles. Amy asked him if he missed Val. “I’ve been missing her for years,” he said, desperate sadness in his voice. “Ever since she went back to work when you and Victoria were teenagers. From then on, she became so independent, always out with her friends from her book club. She didn’t need me anymore. I know I treated her badly. I admit that and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t get over this feeling that I was superfluous to her requirements.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Amy said, trying to be gentle. “Of course she needed you. She wanted a companion, somebody to talk to and make a fuss about her, tell her she was still beautiful, show her he loved her.”
“Well, she’s certainly got that now.” He took out a boil-in-the-bag kipper and dropped it into a pan of water.
AMY TOOK her phone out of her jacket pocket and tried Phil’s mobile. When there was no answer, she tried the office. Phil Walker owned a builders’ merchant. As a young man, he’d had no plans to go into the family business. Instead, he went to university, studied sociology because it was trendy, and planned a career working with deprived inner-city children. Then his father had a heart attack and died. It was the mid-1970s and the country was in recession, with most of the population on a three-day working week. Even though the business was struggling, Phil didn’t have the heart to wind it up and sack the staff, who had been loyal for decades. He took it over, sat tight, and prayed.
Back then it was a small business on the outskirts of a pretty Surrey village. In the early eighties the village expanded. It began to draw soap
Val had always owned a tiny terraced cottage in Clapham. She used to live there before she married. Until recently she had rented it out, but when her last set of tenants moved out in January, she moved in.
The other day when Amy went to visit Val, she’d heard her on the phone to her best friend, Stella. Apparently, prior to her leaving Phil, they hadn’t had sex in months. “And when we did do it, there was never any foreplay. It was a case of brace yourself, Val, I’m coming in.” Amy had cringed and hotfooted it into the kitchen to make Charlie’s lunch.
There was no doubt in Amy’s mind that her father had treated Val badly. In recent years, she couldn’t remember her parents having a proper conversation. She was aware that Val tried to engage Phil in discussions about things she’d read about or heard on the news, but mostly—probably because he considered her interests trivial—he just grunted from behind his paper. Their conversation rarely went beyond Val asking him what he wanted to eat, which of them was going to phone the bloke about the guttering, or whether those briefs and socks strewn on the bedroom floor were destined for the wash or another wearing. Amy couldn’t help thinking that if she’d been Val, she’d have walked out, too. But Phil was still her dad. She loved him to bits. He’d always taken a massive interest in her life—without interfering—and wanted to know her news. They had proper conversations. Whenever she walked into the living room, he would immediately put down his paper or turn off the TV. His face would light up at seeing her. If she had a problem, he made time to listen. He was exactly the same with Victoria. It always upset Amy to think she had such a good relationship with her dad while he neglected Val, but if her mother was jealous, she never said a word.
Now that he was on his own, Phil was pretty much living on takeaway curries and KFC. The last time Amy visited, they’d sat in the kitchen. The area by the back door was covered in empty beer and wine bottles. Amy asked him if he missed Val. “I’ve been missing her for years,” he said, desperate sadness in his voice. “Ever since she went back to work when you and Victoria were teenagers. From then on, she became so independent, always out with her friends from her book club. She didn’t need me anymore. I know I treated her badly. I admit that and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t get over this feeling that I was superfluous to her requirements.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Amy said, trying to be gentle. “Of course she needed you. She wanted a companion, somebody to talk to and make a fuss about her, tell her she was still beautiful, show her he loved her.”
“Well, she’s certainly got that now.” He took out a boil-in-the-bag kipper and dropped it into a pan of water.
AMY TOOK her phone out of her jacket pocket and tried Phil’s mobile. When there was no answer, she tried the office. Phil Walker owned a builders’ merchant. As a young man, he’d had no plans to go into the family business. Instead, he went to university, studied sociology because it was trendy, and planned a career working with deprived inner-city children. Then his father had a heart attack and died. It was the mid-1970s and the country was in recession, with most of the population on a three-day working week. Even though the business was struggling, Phil didn’t have the heart to wind it up and sack the staff, who had been loyal for decades. He took it over, sat tight, and prayed.
Back then it was a small business on the outskirts of a pretty Surrey village. In the early eighties the village expanded. It began to draw soap
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