Man Of Few Words

Chapter 49

"Ok then, Dad," I announce with a sigh, "Her name... was Meadow."

"Meadow?" He squints and rolls the name around his mouth like it's brandy. Then he takes an actual swig of brandy and does the same again.

"How lovely!" he concludes. "Did you run naked through her? Ha!"

He tries to slam his hand emphatically down on the armrest of his chair, but half-misses, producing a dull, awkward thump rather than the meaty slap he was presumably hoping for. I ignore his question, but take his exclamation as a jump off point,

"I wouldn't have said she was lovely exactly. Not in the way you mean, I don't think."

Dad frowns theatrically at this, then chuckles and sips at his brandy.

"She was rude, obnoxious, arrogant, foul-mouthed and riddled with piercings and tattoos."

"Hm... sounds alright..." Dad muses.

"Nice looking though, if you're into that whole goth, punk, alternative thing. I'm not, to be honest, but there was something about her. It wasn't her tall, slim frame, sharp facial features, or her huge, lazy looking eyes – although that was all good. It was her attitude, and the way she introduced herself to me. Although I suppose you wouldn't call it an introduction in the conventional sense."

Dad looks at me, lowering his head and stiffly raising his brows in an almost comical "please go on" gesture.

"This must've been around the beginning of my third year of university. And it was a Tuesday. I know it was a Tuesday because Tuesday was the day of the week when the student union club would have nights based around music most people didn't want to hear."

"Barry Manilow?" Dad speculates. Incorrectly, if you haven't already guessed.

"It was always some kind of niche stuff. Usually, as on this particular Tuesday, it was noisy, angry punk and heavy metal. Y'know..."

"Led Zeppelin?" a better guess from Dad this time. "They're alright, them..."

"Not exactly, but sort of..." I feel myself being derailed, but don't fight it. "Have you ever heard of Rage Against The Machine?"

"No," Dad admits, "But I think I get the idea. Do go on."

So I went on.

"I don't like much of that stuff either, but it was free to get in and most of the drinks were discounted. Y'know, because it was Tuesday."

Dad nodded slowly with a pretense of sageliness.

"I was standing at the bar, supping a beer and talking to a mate. Then a Coldplay song came on. You know Coldplay, don't you?"

Dad nodded some more, this time a little more rapidly,

"Your mum's got one of their CDs, I think. That one who's married to whatsername Gwyneth. Cor! She's an eyeful, she is..."

I cut him off before he started getting horny again.

"Anyway, this Coldplay song comes on, and I laughed and said, 'Isn't this Coldplay?' to my mate. 'Not exactly alternative, is it?'"

No nodding from Dad at this point. This meant nothing to him.

"Then this girl working behind the bar slides into view and says, 'If you don't like it, you can fuck off.'"

"I look at her, eyebrows raised. Then I look at my mate, eyebrows raised even higher. He's smiling kinda nervously. I think he was scared of her. I could sort of see why, but I wasn't going to let some bar wench talk to me like that."

I cringed inside at my use of exactly the kind of term Dad seemed to be in the mood for using, but he'd switched to a kind of inquisitive mode,

"Scared of her?" he mused. "Why? Was she a... larger lady?"

"She wasn't fat, if that's what you mean," I said, knowing full well that's what he meant. "She was... her whole look was geared to looking scary. Well, not exactly scary. But certainly hostile and aggressive and stand-offish. Stand-offish is putting it mildly."

"I think I get the idea," Dad said. "Tattoos? Piercings? Black make-up?"