Homeward Bound by Richard Smith

Author:Richard Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2020-01-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“Bastard.” That was George’s reaction as Bridget, between sobs, explained the bruising round her face. “Sorry, Tara. I know he’s your dad. But your mum’s my daughter and look what he’s done.”

“Don’t apologise, Gramps. I think he’s a bastard, too.”

Mark stood there, unwilling spectator, looking as if he should join in and call Toby a bastard as well. It was Bridget who spoke.

“Please don’t take it out on your father. If I’d been a better wife…”

“Better wife, Mum? You do everything for him. And he’s hit you.”

“He’s still your father.”

“He’s still a cheat and a shit. And he’s here.”

Bridget looked confused. “Who is?”

“Dad.” Tara was pointing at the window.

Standing in the garden, peering through the glass, was Toby. He rapped the window, mouthing, ‘Let me in.’

“How’d he get here? I brought the car. Don’t let him in, please.”

George stepped up to the window. “Go away.”

“He won’t hear you through the double glazing, Gramps.”

“He’ll notice this.” George tugged at a string and the window blind dropped.

“How’d he get here?” Tara echoed her mum.

Before they had a chance to debate likely modes of transport between Basingstoke and London on a Sunday evening, there was a sharp rap on the front door.

“I know you’re in there so let me in. Or I’ll let myself in.”

“Oh, God, he’s got the spare key.”

George frowned at his daughter. “What key’s that?”

Bridget sighed. “We had some spares made. In case something happened to you. Sorry, Dad, but we were worried about you when you came back here.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to open the door, then I’m coming in to take you home.”

“You leave my daughter alone.”

“Ten.”

“Yes, Dad, go away.”

“Nine.”

“I’d better go. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

“Eight.”

Bridget stood up.

“Seven.”

“She’s not coming with you.” George put his arm across Bridget, gently restraining her. Hunter buried his head under the blanket in his basket.

“Six.”

“You hit Mum.”

“It was an accident. It won’t happen again.” A pause, then “Five.”

“Again?” George felt a surge of anger pulse through him. “How many times have there been already?”

Another pause. Then, “Four, three.”

They heard the sound of a key being inserted into the lock.

“Wait a moment.” George let Bridget go.

“What are you going to do, Gramps? You can’t let him in.”

“Two.”

“I don’t think you should let him in, Mr T,” Mark quavered.

“One.”

Before Toby had a chance to turn the key, George swung the door open. Maybe the red wine from lunch or the hurt at being humiliated by Toby made him feel bigger and stronger than he was. Or that his age made him invulnerable, that it was his duty to protect his daughter, granddaughter and the apology for a boyfriend cowering in the kitchen. Had he seen himself in the hall mirror, he might have had second thoughts. Instead, he stood across the doorway, blocking Toby from entering.

“Out of my way, old man.”

“You’ve hit my daughter. You’ll have to hit me, too.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“You’re right. I don’t think you won’t. You. Stooping so low as to threaten a seventy-nine-year-old man.

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