Unsuitable

Gareth’s paternal instincts are stretched to breaking point as his daughter’s new boyfriends are paraded before him. But he has a sharp lesson to learn

It was years since Gareth had had to step over Honor as she perched on the stairs making interminable phone calls

Have you seen the state of the latest one?” hissed Gareth from the window.

Patty didn’t look up from her paper. “Come away from there, love, you’re ruining the new blinds.”

“But he’s got his hair in a bun and wearing ripped jeans!” Gareth was watching in disbelief the receding backs of his daughter and her current date. “Why? Who wants to see his bony knees, anyway?”

“Not me, thanks,” frowned Patty, just before flinging a cushion at her husband’s head. “Will you please stop policing Honor’s boyfriends?

“We promised her when she moved back home that she could come and go as she pleased,” she reminded him as he rubbed his head. Patty had perfect aim.

Gareth returned to his armchair. He tried to concentrate on the scandalous goings-on of the TV soap flickering in the corner, but his mind resolutely returned to the monosyllabic, jean-clad creature who had turned up at his door ten minutes earlier.

‘Bun man’ was just the latest in a long line of bizarre boyfriends. That morning, as he’d watched Honor blend a healthy concoction of fruit, ice and low-fat yogurt that passed for her breakfast, he’d asked her where she found such specimens.

Suppressing a smile (as she often did with him these days, he’d noticed) she had told him: “It comes with the job, Dad. One of the best bits of being a photographer’s assistant is meeting creative, interesting people.” Tutting at his plateful of fried eggs and bacon, she’d dashed out to meet that day’s supply of creative, interesting people.

Gareth had inwardly congratulated himself for suppressing the question he’d been aching to ask for quite a while: why the life of a photographer’s assistant had suddenly beckoned two years into a law degree. Patty had simply sighed: ‘That’s Honor for you’, when their daughter had announced this strange career move, while declaring she would move back home. The over-indulged only sister of four older brothers, Honor was accustomed to getting her own way. Being bright and beautiful ensured that she had also grown up to be quite a handful.

But it was good to have one of the children back in the nest. It was years since Gareth had had to step over Honor as she perched on the stairs making interminable phone calls that seemed to consist mainly of, ‘No? No! Really? No? NO! Go on! No?’. Or since he’d had to sacrifice every razor in the

bathroom cabinet to his daughter’s ‘bikini line’.

It had brought about a change in Patty too. She now had in-house access to informed comment on her clothes and make-up as well as somebody to swoon over Poldark’s Aidan Turner with – and an audience to cheer when she got a bullseye on her husband’s balding head with a cushion.

In fact, there was no serious drawback to Honor’s return (except possibly higher grocery bills) apart from the constant parade of unsuitable males through the front door.

Patty had her own theory about the situation. “You’re getting old,” was how she summed it up. Fifty-eight, Gareth had heatedly reminded her, was not old. After all, Madonna is 60!

When she’d stopped laughing, Patty had reiterated the ground rules Honor had laid down on her return. Absolutely top of the list had been no interference with her personal life.

“So,” Patty had warned darkly,

“no more waiting up for her when she comes in after midnight.”

That evening, when a tired-sounding Patty had shouted down the stairs for him to come to bed, Gareth replied that he just had a touch of insomnia. The bedroom door slammed.

The arrival of Patty’s mother, recovering from a hip operation, added an extra person to the household. “My tap dancing days are over,” Dora giggled as Gareth lowered her on to the sofa.

Gareth wasn’t listening. He was craning his neck to see tonight’s Lothario. Honor was clambering on to the back of the biggest motorbike Gareth had ever seen, and wrapping her arms around an unattractive bundle of greasy leather and long hair. At least he didn’t have a bun…

“What’s up with you?” Dora asked, tucking a blanket around her legs.

Finding a sympathetic ear for his litany of woe, he shortlisted the worst offenders. “There was the six-footer covered in piercings. He had a ring through every body part we could see and probably some we couldn’t.

“Then there was the chap with the ankle-length, fake fur coat, and there was the fella in a pin-striped suit with a Paisley cravat. As for the little guy with the tattoos – every square inch of him was obliterated by ink. I wouldn’t have minded, but much of it was misspelled,” Gareth winced.

Dora blew on her tea. “Yes, young people can be a mystery, can’t they?” she said soothingly.

Gareth wasn’t listening. He was craning his neck to see tonight’s Lothario. Honor was clambering on to the back of a motorbike

“Where is she going to end up at this rate?” Gareth warmed to his theme. “How could any of that bunch possibly partner her in a stable, secure home?”

“Hmm.” Dora’s bright eyes were looking over his head, back into the past. “I remember the first time you turned up at number 34 to take Patty out. This terrifying monster of a machine roared up to the front gate…”

“That was a moped,” Gareth interrupted defensively.

“And this – this thing from another planet got off it. Big, baggy Parka, skin-tight trousers that left nothing to the imagination, spiky bog-brush hairdo. But it was when you walked away from us that Bert and me nearly fainted. You’d handpainted a big target on the back of your Parka for some reason. We thought it looked absolutely ridiculous.”

Gareth was reduced to silent respect, eyeing his wise old mother-in-law.

“As for the shoes,” Dora carried on relentlessly. “The toes were so pointed I always made sure the poor cat was well out of the way. I used to drive Bert mad, fretting until you delivered Patty safely home again.” She paused to take a sip of tea. “Mind you, you didn’t turn out too badly, did you?”

Gareth bent down and kissed Dora’s cheek.

On his way out of the room to make a humble confession to his wife, a cushion caught him squarely on the back of the head. Along with her common sense, Patty had inherited her unerring aim from her mother.