** IT STARTS AND ENDS WITH YOU **
⛳ This would be interesting; finding out how far her natural driving range was, or if she would indeed manage contact with the ball at all. The suggestion of a round of golf was (supposedly) thought up by Saskia her own-sweet-self, for Father's Day; although she told him that Marcus had suggested a course he'd played on only the once before, so their day wouldn't be interrupted by him bumping into others he knew. Nonetheless, it seemed a perfect way of marking his first ever Father's Day - despite him being old enough for Granddad status. But before she was let loose in the green immensity, he was going to give her a feel for the game at the course's practice range first (and also to gauge just how much of an openness-risk she'd be) otherwise it would be one hell of a boring tag-along for her. Regardless of how the day ticks past, the 19th hole (which she remarkably had heard of) was the ultimate ending for them both. It had been a little while since he'd last sunk a few.
Saskia waited at a more 'convenient' corner pick-up-place close to her home. Neil was amazed to see her standing there (as she hadn't texted him back this morning to confirm this) and gave him a quick glance through the window. Single-handedly, she continued to thumb away on her phone - without taking her eyes off the screen - and opened the back car door, plunking herself and her big heavy bag down next to him. Marcus exchanged a nod with her in his mirror and started pulling away.
'Morning, Dad.'
'Good morning. Nice to see you up and about this early. I'm actually amazed you made it on time.'
She gave a mild tut of indignation. 'Who says I've been to bed?' With sparkling eyes and neat fluffed up hair, she didn't have the appearance of having pulled an all-nighter.
'Hmmm,' Neil considered the fact that she may not be joking. 'Anyhow ... ' a forced, asinine smile spread over his face, and he flicked the tips of his fingers quickly back at himself, '... gimme, gimme, gimme!'
She frowns and looks straight at him. 'What?'
'Ah, surely you bought your old dad a card?'
Saskia dipped down into her bag, making Neil notice her feet. 'You're wearing clumpy shoes! I told you, you can't walk on a golf course with those!'
'Stop panicking man, I've got brought other clothes and shoes to change into! Here.'
Neil sat back and took the envelope from her. As expected, the card was a humorous (age referral) one, but he took the slur in good grace. Under the verse inside, she had simply written: Love you, Raptor... Saskia..xxx
'Uhu, that's... cheeky... but nice.' Thanking her by squeezing her hand, he put it back in its envelope and asked Marcus to place it in the glove compartment. He would keep this £1.89 (she rarely thinks to peel the price sticker off the back) card in a safe, sentimental drawer when he got home. Fatherhood was kicking in at an enormous rate, heightening ever more with occasions like today.
The drive through Berkshire would take roughly an hour. It had been a while since he last had a game of golf, and though this one wouldn't strictly be a challenge, it felt nice to be reacquainting himself with the old irons. As visitors, Neil told her they would have to adhere to the etiquette of the club's rules and conditions as knew she was rather vociferous when some things frustrated her. With this prior warning, he hoped she would stick to her behavioural assurances.
On route, Saskia did her best to keep up trivial chatter. Her phone had been snatched from her and duly chucked in her bag, as Neil was getting fed up with her being transfixed by it, it was his day after all. But as they continued to chat over something and nothing, Neil became more aware of the surroundings as they journeyed.
'Are you sure this is the right way, Marcus?' he asked.
The driver leaned to the left to check his sat nav. 'Yes. Still on track, Sir.'
Perhaps there was some recent diversion regarding the route, but time dictated they should be arriving shortly. At least the weather would make the course playable as it promised to be dry, if not so sunny. But a short while later, Neil's suspicion of things not quite adding up returned, as Marcus drove through a little Tudor style village. The last time he played this course it was secluded, out of the way and with no such little town close by. Now he was certain something odd was occurring, and round the next corner it all became clear.
'No!' Neil groaned, 'I don't believe this- you gotta be kidding me!'
Saskia, grabbed her bag, got out and ran round to Neil's side of the car, opening the door for him. 'Happy Father's Day!' she announced very loudly.
The poor, deflated man crept out slowly and stared at the sight straight across from them. Mattillo's Crazy Golf Show. Now it made sense: the wrong route, the lack of conversation between Saskia to Marcus (they were usually quite chatty with each other, having debates, or engaging in quizzes on long journey's) and her unsuitable footwear. Even to the point of carefully stopping the Merc a (shortish) distance from the entrance. How stupid would it have looked with a chauffeur stepping out to let a man of a certain age exit in front of an amusement park - especially with an absence of young kids?
'You shameful, shameful child!' Neil said, looking serious, but having to give them full credit for the bluff - his actual set of golf clubs was in the boot, having been on this futile journey. He felt his veneer of respectability slipping like a sheet of melting ice each time he was with her. Just as well he hadn't changed into his proper golfing gear beforehand.
'Oh, and by the way, Marcus...' he added, '... you're fired! After you come and collect us, of course.'
The driver winked at Saskia on the success of the ruse, he'd enjoyed being in cahoots with her. 'Good luck,' he wished her.
'She'll need it,' Neil told him. 'Right lady... let's go. Prepare for a thrashing!' And with that they headed for the entrance. He hadn't seen this one coming.
Despite being this early on a Sunday morning, there was a fairly-lengthy queue for the course, and in seeing that he wasn't the only man his age made him feel a bit better. Although most appeared to be with groups of younger children (grandchildren, presumably), everyone buzzed, geared up for fun. Crazy golf was one of life's games where the shape of youth carries it's interest on into old age.
After collecting their clubs and scorecards from the kiosk, they entered through the gate into vast wonderment. Neil expected it to be mostly zigzags and windmills, but there were all sorts of mechanical aids, waterfalls, moving stairs and lifts, lights, animated figures lifting balls onto connecting trains, boats and tunnels. It was breathtakingly fantastical, well worth the £20 adult entrance fee. Whomever designed and thought up such sublimity were nothing less than genius. For a few moments, Neil doubted he'd have the skill to tackle some of the challenges.
'Played this sort of golf before?' he asked her.
'Yeah, of course, days out with Grampa as a kid but nothing like this, though - looks mental!'
'Certainly looks a scary bugger... right, kiddo,' he rolled his sleeves up, 'let's go.'
They headed towards Hole No1, beside the huge START sign (God knows where the END one was situated)! It was a fairly simple one, a hill and a few skittles to knock down to get to the hole. In fact, the first few were nothing too complicated, a clever appetiser to get everyone into the swing of things
'Ladies first...', Neil proffered an upturned hand out for her to begin with, and things commenced with easy success - she seemed not too bad at this.
The guidance on the scorecard stated you should move on to the next hole after ten attempts at holing your current ball - which also helped keep the traffic of players flowing - and before long she was sucked into both the arduous and the joyous side of things; stomping when she was beaten and jumping when triumphant. All too soon the seriously testing side of competitive play started to kick in.
At hole No.23 (a loop the loop that reminded Neil of his first Scalextric), her ball kept rimming the hole, circling then veering off, and the underdog here was starting to lose her rag - not quite in quiet defeat. Things weren't helping when wind sped round her legs, flouncing her skirt up as Neil jocosely goaded and lambasted her incompetence. But she soon cared not a jot what flapped about and sparked up a fruitless determination to at least win (or fluke) just one more hole from the remaining obstacles - but his growing score was pissing her off. He could have intentionally lost the odd one or two, but it was such a joy watching her (and five-to-eight year-old's) break into teeny tantrums. Thankfully, she kept her swear words to a mumble.
A few holes along, Neil suddenly abandoned their play to skip across to where a little lad of around six was anxiously struggling to get his ball down that hole. Feeling compelled to help out, he jumped over to him and offered to help. Standing behind the little lad, both of them holding the club, he angled him more to the right and tried it once along with the boy, then let him take the shot himself and in two tries, succeeding. The delighted, little lad (who was accompanied by his grandma plus siblings) turned and threw Neil a big smile, then a YAY! It was the first time he'd ever high-fived a kid.
'Oh, my God!' Saskia whispered, ' he's absolutely loving this!'
Watching him, she stood in quiet admiration. Neil, normally a non-shifting turgid, was growing from being ho-hum to galvanising. Studying the joy upon his face, she felt so proud with herself for arranging today. Shame that sensation didn't last long. Just a few minutes later he was having to help her in the very same way, at the very same hole, and all that got him in return was a dirty look when raising his palm for high-five number two - though her face still as pretty as a picture in a huff!
Working throughout the colours, textures, sounds, lights and lunacy, three whole hours had passed in completing the whole thirty fourholes - of which Saskia had only won a quarter (if that) of. Handing back the clubs and their score sheets, Neil was declared the victor.
'Would you like a winner's badge?' he was asked.
'Ooooh yes!' Neil answered hyperbolically, and was handed a sticker that he stuck onto the chest of his jumper with a few securing taps.
Saskia was handed one too which proclaimed I'll Beat You Next Time.
'Wha-at? No, no, no! Don't you have one that says 'Loser?' he mercilessly teased. The woman just smiled and shook her head.
'You, young lady, have been well and truly stymied.'
'I take it that's a Scottish word, then?'
'Aye, an old golfing term and it suits you to a tee!'
She gave a fond smile accepting her defeat, and started to galumph ahead, Father's Day present now over. 'Well, c'mon then, Raptor!' she called back to him once she'd sensed he wasn't by her side but taking a few still moments to marvel at his girl. Catching up, he put an arm around her shoulder, causing that pleasing flutter in her chest she was getting indescribably partial to.
Although declared his day, Saskia convinced him to take them for a burger. It had been well over ten years - and with his stepsons - since he'd last entered such a joint (at present heavily filled with 'access day' Dads with their kids) and the smell alone evoked similar memories. Before settling upstairs with their meals, she ran out to the car with a burger for Marcus. Food was normally banned from company cars, but she wasn't leaving him out.
She gave the straw to her milkshake the popular rip-and-blow to get the paper off, straight at Neil.
'God... are people still doing that?' He picked the paper from his tray, scrunched it up and threw it back at her. Watching Neil lift that bun to his mouth for a first bite was fascinating; Mr. Gourmet-Chops lowering himself to eat with the rabble! If he was being honest, the beef and gherkin tasted foreign but rather good - though one would hardly become a convert.
So today had been filled with sneaky variability, yet change usually didn't sit right with him. But like the burger he was wolfing into, his day had gone down undeniably well.
'I know things weren't quite what you expected, and I'm bailing out a bit early, but thanks for being so understanding, Dad, but it's a bath and an early night for me. I really did overdo it last night.'
'Hmm...' he gave her that twisty-scornful-mouth thing of his, '...and here was me looking forward to the 19th hole with you.' He continued to tease at her reneging his day, but she had work in the morning, and he had to give her credit for that. 'I'm sure I can find another abandoned father out there to share a consolation drink with this evening.'
'It was fun, though.'
'It was... but I think I know what you're trying to do.' He looked at her resolutely, while stuffing a few fries in his mouth.
'And what's that?' she frowned.
'When we decide to go out? Spending time at zoos and farms, crazy golfing, Sea-ruddy-World? It'll be Legoland next! I know I missed out on your entire childhood, but can we try 'adult' things as well?'
Her frown deepened, Li-i-ke, what?' she said, slowly and warily. 'Hang gliding? Bungee jumps? Paintballing?'
He gave a heavy sigh. 'Like, art galleries, cinema, exhibitions, museums, I dunno - even Madame ruddy Tussauds, or real golf courses.'
'Dad... ' Saskia reached over and grasped his hand, 'I'm not trying to recapture my childhood for you, really I'm not and I love you for thinking that, but we're all still teenagers at heart - well I know I am - so I might still suggest daft days out. However, I promise we'll do something eighteen-plus soon!'
She sealed the deal by slurping a deliberate long and loud suck of milkshake through her straw, as he duly stuck the winner sticker from his jumper onto the inside of his wallet for a permanent reminder of his day.
Throughout the day and since their meal, she kept to herself the fact that he hadn't checked his nails. Not even once. And she'd settled more since her flummoxing at being offered a new car from him, getting more used to his comfortable way of life, and tending now to get not too fazed by it all.
'Good,' he said, eloquently, 'that's that sorted,'
""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""
No comments:
Post a Comment