‘Stop the car.’
‘Don’t be daft, Tilly.’
‘I mean it. Stop the car.’
He pulled up on a garage forecourt, out of the way of the pumps. ‘What is the
matter
?’
‘I want to know why you’re looking at your watch every few seconds.’
‘I’m not.’
I sat there patiently, watching the traffic flash past as if I’d be happy to sit there for ever. ‘All
right
,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe I am. I didn’t realize that I was, but maybe I am.’
‘But
why
?’
It was like watching something made of mud attempt to think. He made the process appear downright painful. ‘I suppose …’
‘Yes?’
‘I suppose …’ He squirmed. ‘I suppose I’m worried that, the later we get to Briar Cottage, the drunker he’ll be.’
Too right! Geoff’s father might not have been swaying or puking, or saying, ‘See you, Jimmy!’ every thirty seconds like half the drunks in Aberdeen. But he was no picnic to visit. He spent a lot of time pretending I wasn’t there, and, when he did admit that I was on the planet, he wasn’t pleasant. He made a face as I kicked off my sandals – honestly, you’d have thought I’d stepped out of my knickers – and glowered as I picked my way barefoot down the bank into the tiny brook that ran along the end of his garden. I paddled in a daft way, up and down, willing the moments to pass. He stared at me with utter scorn for a while, then said to Geoffrey loudly enough for me to hear, ‘Is she always this idiotic? Doesn’t she realize she’s ruining my precious marsh marigolds?’
Mortified, I clambered out and, in a desperate attempt to prove myself more sensible than a paddling toddler, asked, ‘Do you get much pollution in the stream?’
‘None,’ he said, ‘till you stepped in.’
I couldn’t help but gasp. I don’t believe that, since I left primary school, anyone has ever been so rude. I would have thought that I’d misheard, if he’d not followed it up as we were leaving. Staring down at the car as I was climbing in, he said to Geoffrey, ‘What’s that on the back seat?’
Geoff glanced at the unopened packet of batteries lying there, waiting to go back to the shop to be exchanged for ones the next size up. ‘Oh, that’s just one of my mistakes.’
In the wing mirror, I saw his father’s thumb jerk my way and, with the car windows open, heard him say it clearly enough. ‘You mark my words, boy. So is she.’
We must have driven for at least a mile with neither of us saying anything. I could only suppose Geoff was waiting for some explosion. But what did it matter to me? Geoff had as good as warned me. And, after all, it’s not as if I were eighteen and dying to be part of a brand-new family, or planning to have children who might want to paddle in the stream in their turn, and call the grumpy old fart ‘Grandpa’. So after a while I said, quite fascinated by the whole grisly experience, ‘Do you know, I do believe your father is the rudest man I’ve ever met.’
Geoff’s fingers tightened round the steering wheel. ‘Well, he was
drunk
. I did warn you.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘You did warn me. And a good thing too, since he is almost unbelievably offensive.’
That’s when he said it. ‘Tilly, he is my
father
.’
People who use cloth for brains have always got on my nerves. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you are right that he’s your father. And I am right that he’s the rudest man I’ve ever met. Both of these statements can be true at the same time, and both of them are.’
I don’t know what made me mutter under my breath , ‘Unless, of course, you were
adopted
.’ But that was a step too far. Geoffrey fell in a sulk that lasted for sixty miles. I did try pulling him out of it once or twice. I twittered on about the colour of some cows in a field, as I recall. And once or twice I remarked on the number of squashed pheasants. But after a while I felt more cross than guilty. After all, what was Geoffrey doing except for closing down
‘Don’t be daft, Tilly.’
‘I mean it. Stop the car.’
He pulled up on a garage forecourt, out of the way of the pumps. ‘What is the
matter
?’
‘I want to know why you’re looking at your watch every few seconds.’
‘I’m not.’
I sat there patiently, watching the traffic flash past as if I’d be happy to sit there for ever. ‘All
right
,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe I am. I didn’t realize that I was, but maybe I am.’
‘But
why
?’
It was like watching something made of mud attempt to think. He made the process appear downright painful. ‘I suppose …’
‘Yes?’
‘I suppose …’ He squirmed. ‘I suppose I’m worried that, the later we get to Briar Cottage, the drunker he’ll be.’
Too right! Geoff’s father might not have been swaying or puking, or saying, ‘See you, Jimmy!’ every thirty seconds like half the drunks in Aberdeen. But he was no picnic to visit. He spent a lot of time pretending I wasn’t there, and, when he did admit that I was on the planet, he wasn’t pleasant. He made a face as I kicked off my sandals – honestly, you’d have thought I’d stepped out of my knickers – and glowered as I picked my way barefoot down the bank into the tiny brook that ran along the end of his garden. I paddled in a daft way, up and down, willing the moments to pass. He stared at me with utter scorn for a while, then said to Geoffrey loudly enough for me to hear, ‘Is she always this idiotic? Doesn’t she realize she’s ruining my precious marsh marigolds?’
Mortified, I clambered out and, in a desperate attempt to prove myself more sensible than a paddling toddler, asked, ‘Do you get much pollution in the stream?’
‘None,’ he said, ‘till you stepped in.’
I couldn’t help but gasp. I don’t believe that, since I left primary school, anyone has ever been so rude. I would have thought that I’d misheard, if he’d not followed it up as we were leaving. Staring down at the car as I was climbing in, he said to Geoffrey, ‘What’s that on the back seat?’
Geoff glanced at the unopened packet of batteries lying there, waiting to go back to the shop to be exchanged for ones the next size up. ‘Oh, that’s just one of my mistakes.’
In the wing mirror, I saw his father’s thumb jerk my way and, with the car windows open, heard him say it clearly enough. ‘You mark my words, boy. So is she.’
We must have driven for at least a mile with neither of us saying anything. I could only suppose Geoff was waiting for some explosion. But what did it matter to me? Geoff had as good as warned me. And, after all, it’s not as if I were eighteen and dying to be part of a brand-new family, or planning to have children who might want to paddle in the stream in their turn, and call the grumpy old fart ‘Grandpa’. So after a while I said, quite fascinated by the whole grisly experience, ‘Do you know, I do believe your father is the rudest man I’ve ever met.’
Geoff’s fingers tightened round the steering wheel. ‘Well, he was
drunk
. I did warn you.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘You did warn me. And a good thing too, since he is almost unbelievably offensive.’
That’s when he said it. ‘Tilly, he is my
father
.’
People who use cloth for brains have always got on my nerves. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘you are right that he’s your father. And I am right that he’s the rudest man I’ve ever met. Both of these statements can be true at the same time, and both of them are.’
I don’t know what made me mutter under my breath , ‘Unless, of course, you were
adopted
.’ But that was a step too far. Geoffrey fell in a sulk that lasted for sixty miles. I did try pulling him out of it once or twice. I twittered on about the colour of some cows in a field, as I recall. And once or twice I remarked on the number of squashed pheasants. But after a while I felt more cross than guilty. After all, what was Geoffrey doing except for closing down
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