Into The Ocean (ch19)

                    start of **INTO  THE  OCEAN**

🌊 A goner. Off the face of the hotel. Phone switched off.  

    As often as not, he found her in the last place he thought she'd be; on one of the couches by the hotel entrance. Shoes were off and resting on top of the bag by her side: hair extension tugged off and poked out from it like some bedraggled albino rat; knees bent up and tucked under the skirt of her dress and toes curled on the edge of her seat to help keep her balance. She looked a sorrowful sight.

    'There you are, ' Neil sighed loudly, feeling part allayed, part annoyed, 'I started to think you must be away to a club or something. What are you doing here?'  Stopping in front of her, he noticed she had her coat on. The fact he had sussed-out her whereabouts rankled her. 

    'I just decided I should go home tonight.' 

    The obvious flew to mind. 'Is your mum okay?' he asked, not quite expecting her reaction.

    Headbutting the arms that crossed over her knees three times, she gave a huge, dramatic sigh of her own, then looked up at him.  'Y'know what? I don't know, and I don't bloody care. Can't I just have a day when something's not about her?'

    Neil stepped to the side, spun round on his heel, pulled up the knees of his trousers and parked himself beside her; must be pent up frustration and the free bar talking.  Although he constantly reminded her that he was there to talk to about her mum, and despite him being what she considered respite from her, she didn't really make mention of what home life entailed, or what she encountered. Carers are allowed off days too, he reasoned; say things they don't mean.

    'Okay, kiddo - spill. What's up?'

    'Does there have to be anything up, can I not just want to go home?'

    'Well, yes. But to try to sneak off and not tell your father first?' he gave a slight, sarky snicker.

    'I'd have called when I got home...' she stated rather limply. Saying goodbye to him had started to make her feel hollow and distant, and tonight she refused to engage with it, and instead whisked it off to her file of avoidance.

    'Uh-huh... and what about the rest of the things in your room, like your new dresses? I mean you've just got your handbag and shoes there.' he said, pointing to them.

    'I dunno, probably just... ' she struggled for an explanation, 'come back for them in the morning.'

    'An hour's drive here and back?  Or was I to take them with me?'  He wasn't buying this; had a hunch that facts still needed unpicking. 'Saskia, what's bothering you... has someone said something?'

      'No! 'I'm okay! I just need... should... go home.'

      'Your not okay, and there's a perfectly decent bed here. Use it, it was expensive enough.' Neil couldn't comprehend this sudden change in her. Getting more frustrated at his stubborn little madam, he rose and grabbed her hand, forcing her to stand, but she jerked it roughly away. 

    'What are you doing? Dad, I've ordered a taxi, it'll be here soon!' 

    Just as determined not to be outdone, Neil approached the bellhop on door duty. Taking out his wallet, he drew out £40 and handed it to him. 'When the taxi for Reymarr arrives, give him this and apologise for any inconvenience.' 

    'Of course, sir,' the boy dutifully replied, keeping hold of the money in his gloved hand. Half of that would make its way into his own pocket once Neil and Saskia left.

    'I don't know what's got into you tonight, but you really don't want to be disturbing your mum at this hour. Grab your shoes and bag.'  This time she didn't object to being tugged along by him.

    Should have waited for the taxi outside, she told herself. What the fuck am I gonna do now?

Neil kept hold of her hand until she was in the lift, and on release she rather immaturely folded her arms in an act of defiance, hitting his elbow with the shoes she was grasping. Staring stonily at her from the vastly mirrored lift sides, her reflection was so wound up he hardly recognised it. Neil made no effort to converse, instead remaining quiet until they stepped out.

    'Come on, I'll see you to your room.'

    'No, I'll manage. Really. You just go to bed,' she told him, with what he hoped was quiet resignation.

    'Are you sure you're okay?'

    'Yes. Honestly.' She started to frantically fish around the contents of her bag, mumbling and cursing quietly, stopping and starting with shakes of the head.  

    'Why don't I come in for a coffee first, till you get settled.' 

    Was he bloody kidding?  She needed to be alone.

    'Christ, I don't need babysitting, I'll go straight to bed like a good little girl!' 

    She was starting to sound acrimonious again. It was like her moodiness was controlled by a switch you wouldn't know whether to flick up or down. Something was very much off and he couldn't quite identify what was causing this character slip. Could the melancholy simply be fuelled by booze? She didn't appear to be that drunk so that was hard to distinguish or conclude, but what else could it be? It still worried him, however, that she may try to take off again; he had no choice but to run that risk. 

    'Okay, then. I'll go. You should feel better once you sleep it off.' Uh-oh, wrong thing to say.

    'Sleep it off?' she retorted. 'Well, that should be a dawdle since I drank like fuck to get annihilated tonight without success, so I've got fuck all to sleep off!' 

    'Why would you want to get that bad?'

    With head turned and eyes cast down the long corridor, she said in quiet mumble, 'I didn't want to, I needed to.'

    'What was that?'

    'Nothing... forget it.'

    'I'm not going to forget it, you've been fine all night and some reason or other—'

    'This is something I've got to face on my own... Dad!'

    'Someone has said something to you, haven't they?' he said in a serious tone. It was personal; had to be the likeliest reason for all this mind-boggling nonsense.

    'Just leave it...please.' 

    She turned and walked towards her door, ready to activate the swipe card, but Neil drew her hand back before contact. If someone had upset his daughter he needed to know.

   'Saskia!?'

   That was it. He'd gone and pushed her to her utmost limit, and any words she was about to drop would be his own fault.  

   'Okay Dad! D'you really want to know?'

   'Yes!' he said sharply. 'Just tell me!'

   'Fine. I will. Earlier on tonight, I walked in on that red... Rottweiler woman snorting a line of coke in the toilets, and before she gave me a chance to just shrug it off, she went off like a tempest in a teapot, taking great delight in telling me that you're partial to a line yourself.  And not only that but you've slept with half the women in London, especially your new employees - including her!' Well, he wanted to know and was taken so far aback he could hardly focus.

    Curling in his bottom lip and licking it, he then let out a sigh of huge disbelief and ran a mortified hand through his mortified hair, cursing Julia under his breath. 'For fuck's sake!'  She'd been rubbing salt in the wound by every dance he gave her, and it was Saskia who'd felt its sting. The brazen bitch.

    'Why didn't you tell me before now?'

    She shrugged. 'Didn't want to spoil your night - everyone's night.' 

    He floundered in the spot where he stood, flummoxed and instantly dry-mouthed. That was the last thing he expected to hear. 

    'Jesus, kiddo, that was ten years ago. I was totally out of it, I'd just split up with Magrette and went off the rails. The cocaine was a... a barrier, blotted out the stupidity of losing her.'

    'It doesn't matter...' she whispered, but he didn't catch it.

    'I can't believe that bloody woman casting up something like that after all these years. I'm sorry, I really am - you didn't need to hear all that muck... '

    'Dad?' Saskia tried to interrupt his explanatory needs, but he continued to ramble on, ashamed and making a complete hash of reasoning until she was forced to shout:

    'No, Dad, no, you don't understand, I'm not disappointed in you, I don't give a shit about you taking cocaine!'  The yell did the trick and he'd instantly clammed up. 'I'm jealous, okay?'

    There. It was out. She said it.

    'Jealous?' His brow furrowed, struggling to fathom this one out. 'Of what...?'

     She turned and swiped-opened her door. 'Jealous of every single one of those women who'd gotten that close with you, wishing it had been me instead.'  

    Neil just stared at her, frozen to the spot. How could she tell him she couldn't help it, that any undertows of logic and reasoning had long been trampled over and she was now only reacting to what was stirring in her stomach, spinning in her head, circling round her heart. 

    Taking a step into her room, she swung round to see the confoundment on Neil's face. 

    'Bet you wished you'd bunged me in that taxi after all, huh?' 

    Gently the door was closed on him. That was that. Her to-do in the toilets with Julia - that she fought to keep in check all night  - ultimately got the better of her.

            end of **Into  The  Ocean**

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Wonderland (part 2 CH18)

      start of  **WONDERLAND** (part two)  

🎉Standing at the bar, Neil saw Saskia return to the hall. She'd been away quite a while, but what did he know about the timings of female toilet-talk? Nonetheless, he was relieved to see her and caught her flick a glance towards him with an added smile. She'd brought about a certain excitability by simply being here, and from the corner of her eye made out him pointing in her direction. 

The vast room was now buzzing. Almost everyone that entered the room had no sooner settled at their table, before eyes were searching, anxious for a look at the Queen Bee. It was so venerating to watch them all mesmerized by her. Some even felt that she had tempered him to the point of being less intense in the office. By and large, she would be under surveillance most of the night. 

      With the bubbles and whisky having well kicked in, Neil stood and scanned his workforce, knowing he would be buggered without them. Loyal, hard workers that rarely caused problems. To whom, at times, he had been disparaging. At Christmas, his generosity folded outwards and diminished his own significance. For one night he was an equal despite, perhaps, him being rigged out in the most expensive suit. Christmas spirit had on him, albeit briefly, the embodiment of altruism.  He'd best soak up this one, undiversified night. 

Hardly a person that invited Saskia to dance was turned down Neil noticed, as he held her under his almost constant watch. It amused him to see the smirk on the faces of some of the great unwashed. Dancing with the boss's daughter, or rather, the boss's exceptionally-beautiful daughter, was a tick on every scale. It was those whose plus-one Neil didn't know that concerned him.  Over the loud music, they would lean in to make small talk in her ear, and for the most part she handled it well, politely thanking them for the dance and heading back to her table. At times he would rip her away from her newly-found friends, for more formal introductions to his own influential ones. 

    She didn't mind - expected it really. Her only bothersome concern was nose-candy Julia, who dominated the dance floor, and always seemed to have something to say to Neil every time she passed his table on route to widdle and take a fresh line. They exchanged the odd glance in passing, but Saskia never saw Neil leaving the room with her. She wasn't sure how she would feel if he had. Doing her best not to show it, the mouthy cow's ripping toilet outburst still bothered her despite her effort to focus solely on the celebrations.

                                    

Alas, the party came to its time-flying, incredulous end with the DJ announcing the last dance - the one where you had to pick your partner carefully; it wouldn't do to festively-offend. On hearing the call, two lads, from different directions, rose to the challenge and meandered through the sea of tables, chairs and fellow last-chancers, trying to get to Saskia, hoping to be that accepted final offer. But a voice behind them cut in.

      'Sorry, guys, but I secured this one earlier on.'  Neil proffered a hand to his daughter and led her to the dance floor. His skin felt cool and soft, and his grip reassuringly strong. 

      Every year, on his request, the Christmas night's music ended with a song of his choice; not a festive one, but one that sailed along with him through his life. Him and his sunken sentiment bursting through but once a year.  Strangely, its words he could almost dedicate to his lost daughter; as if perhaps it was expecting her presence somewhere down the line.  

      Putting her hands on his shoulders, his on her waist, they gently swayed in old-style moon dance, exchanging silly smiles and glances over shoulders as the floor crowded with couples squeezing closer together. Leaning to his ear, she asked in a compelled shouty tone:

    'So... what's with you and the lady in red? She's had you up dancing a lot.'

    Giving a searching peek around him, making sure she and the poor guy she was glued to were swaying out of earshot, he told her,  'That's Julia... she used to work for us. No man refuses her a dance!' He tipped his head in her direction. 'Rottweiler in slingbacks!'

    This made Saskia laugh, and Neil grinned back, warming at this. With eyes that lingered on her inviting features, he leaned towards her ear.  'I am so proud of you. You're easily the prettiest woman here tonight.'

    She raised her brows and stated quite frankly, 'Well, any Dad would have to say that.'

    'No, no. It's nothing to do with the biased-father thing - it just happens to be true.'

    'I think someone's had too many Jack Daniel's.'

    'Oh, come on. You must have felt a flush from all those eyes on you tonight?'

    'That was just everyone wanting a gawp at the boss's daughter.'  It was enriching though, feeling like his little emblem.

     'The boss's daughter...' he repeated. 'I still can't believe it.'            

     Staring at him for no more than a few seconds, a diminutive nod was all she mustered before  downcast eyes tried uselessly to hide the prickly glimmer in them. Drink induced or not, his words made a bolt straight for her heart.

    'Hey?' He stopped and lifted up her chin, wiping the wet from her cheek with his fingertips.  'Awe... come here you soppy thing.' He pulled her forward and rested her head on his chest, with his own head resting down on hers, not giving a shit if mascara stains smudged his shirt. Those long arms folded right round her waist, and a thumb found itself resting on the crisscross side panel of her dress, stroking lightly and comfortingly up and down a window of exposed skin. 

    It was a divine feeling, an unequivocal need to be ensconcing such a precious belonging, knowing that one day he might be all she's got. It was almost cruel that life had passed so long without her.  Under this very dance, he knew there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for her.  Closing his eyes, he got lost in the fading moments of the song, singing the words in his head:

                                        ♪'The blame I lay on her......Wonderland.♪' 

    He always believed that in a song you can find the perfect feeling that real life is reluctant to provide, yet here it intensified by having her in his hold.

     The keenly awaited load of netted balloons looking down on the pick and mix of could-be lovers, were on the brink of freedom. The latter part of their dance felt strange, majestic even, and as the music stopped and the glorious shower of balloons and foil ribbons fell to a chorus of Christmas cheer, they freed themselves from their clutch and stood inert.  For a moment, everything disconnected, until she reached out and gently thumbed the lapels of his jacket as he put his hands lightly on her waist.  Foreheads touched, and Saskia looked almost as if she was reluctant to open her eyes. But other couples leaving the floor, popping and kicking a path through the balloons, seemed to jerk her back to the motion-filled here and now.   

    'You okay?' he asked. 

    'I need to go the loo...' she announced to his amusement - always seeming to know how to round off perfect moments, she did.... 

    In the sudden full brightness of the swanky room, he watched her trot off, then turned to eye the utter mess that merry celebration could bring. It would take staff hours before their heads were hitting their pillows. Some clean up operation this would be. The reward would come with all the extras the guests abandoned for staff to take home; everything from money and food, to decorations and Secret Santa gifts, stretching this party even further.

                                                                        

That dissonant sound once the music and racket stops - letting you know how pissed you are by the level of its drone - was buzzing loudly in his head. As much as he couldn't be bothered with the farewells, he wasn't at a point where he was too drunk to happily suffer it out.  It was mostly 'Merry Xmas' wishes and thank you's, and the occasional male idiot with mistletoe who dared under alcohol to coax a kiss from him, to which he sometimes - cheeks only - happily provided.  After twenty minutes, with just a trickle of people around, he realised Saskia hadn't returned.  Probably got caught up saying her own goodbye's.  Glancing over at the table, he saw her bag wasn't there, so therefore must be with her. He'd give it five minutes and then he'd phone her.

                                

          end of **Wonderland** (part two)

Slow Motion (ch17)

         start of  **SLOW MOTION** 

💃 Talking away, the girls searched for a vacant cubicle, finding one each at the same time.  But on pushing the door open, Saskia recoiled. 'Wow!' she said aloud, closing it sharply.  

    Bent over the cistern had been a woman - smartly dressed in a red two-piece suit - snorting cocaine through a cut down straw. Saskia quickly moved along to find another cubicle to use and was surprised to see the snorter still insouciantly hanging around, giving her make up a fresh lick.  She was quite a thickset brunette who looked to be in her forties, and she held Saskia's gaze in the toilet mirror as she went to wash her hands.

     'Eyes popped back in then, have they?' she asked of Saskia, who didn't reply. Claire stood there silent and motionless, and Saskia soon picked up a vibe that they may know each other.  'You can have some if you want... ' The woman offered with a hint of trenchancy and a deliberate sniff.

     'Sorry... not my thing.' Saskia replied, unsure if the offer was meant as sarcasm or to buy her silence - not that she was giving too much of a shit either way.

     'Oh, I see. Lambrusco more your 'thing', eh?' she said, turning to directly face Saskia with pouted lips and raised eyebrows.  Yes, this woman was definitely being sardonic, but before she had the chance to reply and eyeball the snorter back harder, another woman appeared.

     'Julia, there you are. Been looking everywhere for you.'  This Julia had made a beeline for the porcelain before joining the party, through her need to kick-start her night.

     'Just coming, Millie. Little Miss Prettytits here just caught me taking a line. I think it offended her.'

     'Let's just go...' Claire tried to lure her new friend back to the hall.

     'Look!' retorted Saskia. 'I'm not going to pretend I approve, 'cause I don't.' She didn't believe there was even such a thing as recreational weekend boosts from drugs; any time was a needless risk. 'One of my friends fucked up her life through cocaine - that is what you're using, isn't it?' 

    'Ooh! Listen to Little Miss Expert!'

    'You were taking a white powder, you don't need much brains to harbour a guess at what it was, but she was only nineteen when she was hit by a car while off her face on the stuff!'

    'Obviously a silly cow then, wasn't she? Still... that's a poor Little Miss Sorrow tale you've told there. I may cry.'

    Saskia felt a tug at the waist of her dress as Claire tried to forcefully pull her away. But she was now highly irked and in with a cause. Angry at her callous attitude, and pissed off with all the  Little Miss references, it was time to put the quietus on this bitch.

     'Keep up the snorting and mocking all you like. But, sure, my friend was young and stupid, naive and influenced... what's your excuse? I mean... ' Saskia eyed her head to foot and back, with deliberate disparagement in her voice. '... you must be well into your forties. Are you not a bit old to be doing that sort of thing, or does it substitute for what you've not got anymore - like looks?!' 

     The other two women held each other's gaze; both knew how capable Julia was of  hit first - deal with it later.  Julia instantly pressed her forehead against Saskia's. 'Just who the fuck do you think you are!' One nut and Saskia would be down. While Claire was seriously thinking of fetching help, Millie's panic led her to intervene.  'C'mon Julia, it's not worth anything daft.' 

    'That's true,' Claire voiced now, 'don't let it spoil your night, Saskia. Let's go... '

    Taking heed, Saskia went to barge past Julia but she blocked the doorway, denying her exit. Wisely keeping her fists out of it, she had to retaliate for a slur like that.

    'Yeah, Saskia,' Julia mimicked her name with a derisory, wobbly head gesture, 'you don't want to spoil your night with one of the office boys you've no doubt promised to suck off for the free booze and buffet now, do we!'

    This was getting sweeter for Saskia. 'You're wrong... Julia,' (name said with head wobble back).  'I've not been invited here with any office boy, or any friend. I'm actually here with Neil. You know... Mr. Balfour? The man who throws this party every year.'

    Julia frowned. Neither she or Millie could make the connection. 'Pulling waifs in off the street now, is he?'  

    Saskia took delight in clarifying her position, 'I'm his daughter. So in a roundabout way that kind of makes me inviting you here tonight... and I can have you removed in a heartbeat for what you were doing in that cubicle!' 

    The revelation stunned Julia. She had known Neil not to have any family. Her partner - who still works for Balfour Enterprises - must have found the news of his boss's instant daughter too insipid to take home. But the shock that Saskia thought she'd hit her with switched into Julia's glee, as a huge destructive smile spread over her face. She was about to return fire with a mighty weapon.

    'This is the heart of London, darling, it's all caviar and cocaine. And if you don't believe me - ask your father! He's partial to a line himself... oh, and he's also slept with half the women he's hired - including me.'

    'Oh, for fuck's sake!' Millie protested; this had gone too far. Julia could never operate on a level of even fake politeness if she tried; goes straight for the jugular regardless of who you are. Grabbing her motormouth friend by the sleeve of her jacket, she started to pull her out, but not without one parting shot;

    'Oh, by the way - ask him if he remembers the time he snorted a line off my back... I got a bonus for that. Have a nice night, Little Miss Prim!'

 Alone again with Claire, Saskia's brain stuttered for a moment as she stared straight ahead, then dropped her head; stupefied at what had just happened, and struggling to keep tears at bay.

    'Well,' sighed Saskia, 'that's me told then.' She threw her head up, sending a half-smile at Claire who tried to play it down.

    'She's a lying cow, Saskia. Take no notice, she's always been a bitch.'

    As fallacious as it sounded, she knew such a vile diatribe wouldn't be spouted if there was no truth to it, and she knew her new friend wouldn't hurt her with the truth. Saskia nodded and rubbed Claire's shoulder in agreement. 'I won't. And it's best not to mention it to Dad, either.'

    'Of course not,' a wide-eyed Claire promised. 'C'mon, let's get back to the party - keep up the Christmas spirit.'

As they stepped back into the hall, Saskia searched for her father's face and he was happily exchanging man-humour in a group of around six at the bar. She pledged to enjoy herself without letting any scandelous unearthing be the driving force for the night ahead. She would keep a beady eye on Julia (easy to locate in bright red) who was, for now, tucked away in a crowded corner. But Saskia knew she wouldn't be ensconced long before shimmying that fat arse through the seated crowd and be in Neil's company.

              end of  **SLOW  MOTION**

  

Wonderland (pt1) CH16

       start of  **WONDERLAND  (PT1)**

🎄  Saskia had never eaten such delicacies in the whole of her life; hadn't even heard of some of the food Neil ordered.  She joked (he'd hoped) that she thought foie gras was something to do with cars, but he'd cogitated over time she really could, periodically, be a ditzy (dyed) blonde. More expensive menus, she knew, brought about some rare and unique dishes. 

   But at dessert she felt genuinely bad at having to put a spoon through that lacy string dome to get to the violet ice cream floral perfection, and Neil had to draw the line at her wanting to take a picture of it before its upcoming demolishing.  This was the first time she had eaten out anywhere without condiments (in square pots or otherwise) present on the table. It was quite a thrill. Apart from waving her fork inelegantly around in the air, and picking candle wax drips off with her fingernail, she behaved very well for a posh-food novice.

                                                                                

Replete with her posh nosh-up, walking from the restaurant into the main function room was magical; from satiation to delectation. Christmas decorations adorned every wall, window and door.  Helium-filled gold and green balloons wavered  every so often from tables, alongside parades of luxury crackers awaited pulling, their innards - no doubt - destined for the bin. Lit holly boughs draped every wall, helter-skeltered round every pillar, and on every door sat a coruscated wreath.

   The biggest, most impressive tree Saskia had ever clapped eyes on stood proudly in near-symmetrical splendor. She circled it at least ten times to catch its beauty. It was when admiring the huge star-topper that she noticed a net hanging high above holding up a humongous amount of balloons, promising jollity and mirth for later release. The girl was enraptured, near speechless, which pleased Neil immensely. 

   'Wow... this is breathtaking, Dad!' she said, all the while anticipating this particular Christmas night out would be rip-roaringly hard to match. 

   'Isn't it just?' quipped Neil. 'Shows I have a heart at least once a year. C'mon... let's grab a drink before the madding crowd appear!' A top table was reserved for them and a few select others, and while they sat - the only meantime couple in the hall - the hotel caterers and DJ started to prepare for the evening roistering.

   'I'm quite nervous meeting new people,' she blurted out, swigging her champagne far too readily.

   'Oi! Let's not go mental with the drink.' He smiled wryly and took the glass from her hand, laying it in front of her.  A rerun of gig-night would pop up in his memory from time to time, and as much as she had behaved responsibly since, he didn't want to chance a repeat performance. 'We'll wait till after the vultures arrive, then go nuts.'

   'Fair do's... ' she shrugged, willing to exchange glugs for sips meantime.

   With their glasses filled with champagne (he'd be on the JD's soon as his 'table friends' were here) a second time, guests started to ingress almost on the dot. With a free bar all night and travel expenses home already funded to them, they'd be mad not to make the most of it. 

   Saskia felt rather silly standing near the door and greeting the new arrivals beside a waiter and waitress with trays of champagne flutes. 

   'Jesus Christ, Dad, we're not at a wedding... this feels daft!' Saskia whispered between hellos.

   'Shh... we'll just give it half an hour, it's the way things are done.'

   'Yeah, in Henry the bloody Eighth's day maybe! I'm surprised you didn't arrange a fanfare...'

   He clipped her shoe with the side of his, in a signal for her to shut it as they both struggled to contain a laugh. For tonight, at least, there would be no majestic approach; his staff could drop addressing him as sir tonight - most opted for Mr. Balfour. All but a favoured few and the odd brave one would use first name terms.

   As expected, the first festively-draped was a younger bunch; some having brought their change of clothes with them to work, not wanting wasting a moment. Despite not mingling too much with his staff at work, he was still very good at remembering names. 

   'Saskia, this is Alastair, Claire, Rufus - or Rudolf as he's called this time of year - and Emilyne.'

   'Hello,' she smiled pleasantly at them, shaking each hand, not sure if an exchange of words were expected. She felt it weirdly regal and unnecessary but thrilling at the same time.  They grabbed a drink each and settled themselves at the table next to their boss's.  From the corner of her eye, Saskia could see their heads turning her way, and above the girls' shushing she made out:

     'Must take after her mum 'cause she really doesn't look like him, thank God! Mind you, with all that money he was never gonna produce a fugly, was he?'  

     Saskia gave an intentional little cough just to unnerve the boys.  Her own nerves had remarkably waned, swapped with this unique sense of pertinence. Just to rile them a bit further, she turned right round and slowly reached for another glass of champagne, throwing a diminutive smile their way.  It was fun to see them squirm.  

     Within a few minutes, a regular flow of guests started to fill the hall, and Saskia was relieved when Neil suggested she go sit with Claire and the others her age range. Her company was accepted gratefully and with a hint of honour.  

   Falling quickly into the zone, Saskia was sharing interests and laughs (and no doubt, phone numbers); You'd wouldn't think they'd been friends for only one hour as there had initially been a bit of a fear factor when elected to minister the boss's daughter. She could have been a hard-nosed uppity cow, but instead was not filled with anything but a soft curiosity of the people she'd just met. And when she got up with Claire to visit the Ladies, she passed Neil without looking his way, (which made him smile) he wondered if he'd even get to consort with her much tonight. But he was happy to stand aside for now, and simply watch the reaction to his little showpiece. 

                                                                            

       end of  **WONDERLAND** (part one)

      

Wasted City (CH15)

              start of  **WASTED  CITY**

👔👗The work's Christmas party was due to take place tonight; an affair of grand proportion. But to say that Neil was an ostentatious organizer of this over-the-top event was true and the opinion of some, the same said some never objected to their Christmas bonus. As well as an added lift in staff's pay-packet of a hundred pounds, they were also treated to this annual work night out. 

   The Bodden Bray hotel was its permanent venue - free bar, free buffet, free gratis all round. Not only was that for present workers but past employees (plus one) also; anyone would be a mug to miss it. Of course, this year had an added added-bonus. 

  For more than a decade, Neil attended partnerless: tonight he would be accompanied by Saskia. And if the word round the office was true, (one or two had casually met her) they were in for a treat.  But for the here and now; there was some shopping for the night ahead still to do. 

To Neil's dismay, Saskia had left it to the last minute to get kitted out for the party. A fortnight prior was the original goal, but her little cafe was doing great business with the lead up to Christmas and that saw her having to sacrifice some Sunday's too. However, this weekend was freed well in advance from cafe commitments, allowing ample time to enjoy it. And for convenience Neil booked overnight rooms for himself and Saskia in the hotel.

   Today would officially be their first proper shopping expedition together and as with most blokes; shopping with or for women always set them aquiver. The hope here was that it could all be done in the one department store; House of Fraser or Harvey Nichols usually catered to his tastes, and hopefully hers too. In, out, done. But whatever one she decided upon, quickness in satisfaction could bag them a longer lunch. 

   Before leaving his room, he stood counting a goodly sum of notes from his wallet. Usually his own spending was done via cards, but he liked to have a surplus in his wallet in case the day had any sudden change to it. Besides, he was a very generous tipper - something you can't do with plastic.

   Neil gently knocked on Saskia's door, before warily peeking his head round; God knows what state of undress she still may be in.  As he took a seat, she popped out from the bedroom with no hello, cursing that she couldn't find the earrings she had put down somewhere so went back into the bedroom for another pair, then located the desired ones in the kitchenette. She gave him a 'won't be long' promise while swapping them over. By now Neil had acquiesced himself to her last minute rushes (where she was now fixing her jeans again in a way that makes it hard not to watch - especially when she added a 'hup' to the jumping action). 

   'Just going to grab my coat, Dad...'

   God, he was weary just watching all her darting around and somehow knew this was just a little taster for how manic the day would become.  When she reappeared, he was pleased to see that she had wrapped herself up sensibly and not about to face the wind-chill factor in anything light or short. Like him, she wore a long, woollen coat (albeit mottled and boucle with nonsensical badges on the lapels) and thick bobble hat.  As much as they only planned to shop at one store, they would most likely have to walk a fair distance getting there due to dire London parking.

   'Ready?'  he asked her in a tone that indicated; are you sure about that?

   'Uhu'.

   'Thought any more about what kind of dress you're going for?'  He was hoping to at least hear a colour she'd decided on.

   'Nope,' she said, pronouncing the 'p' of the word like a popgun pop. He raised - yet again - those expressive eyebrows and tutted. 

   'C'mon then... let the madness begin. Marcus is waiting outside for us.'

     

As expected, parking proved to be a plight, even with the addition of several extra designated zones for Christmas shoppers.  Simply finding a safe drop-off point from the chauffeur took twenty minutes and they had the comfort of calling him back to be picked up despite any time lag. But at this rate they would be lucky to fit in lunch at all; it was contingent upon her and her pernicketiness.

   Blessed with a beautiful dry sun-filled day, it had taken just ten minutes into their walk for Saskia's cheeks to be flushed with rosy winter-chill.  Her reason not to wear gloves always irked Neil, remarking that frostbite wasn't worth the risk for having a constant swiping finger at the ready. Gloves forever on, off, on, off would only risk the chance of dropping one's phone all together, she argued back. But it felt nice to feel Neil's own gloved hand unexpectedly reach to catch hers as they walked as passersby glanced in their direction. She had an innate prominence of both wanted and unwanted attention as the street thronged with swarms of Christmas shoppers. He was never fond of Saturday afternoon people with their shoulder-to-shoulder bumping and dodging, cursing and apologising as it was, never mind seasons greetings added in the mix. But... a promise was a promise.

   It helped him not, mind you, that she didn't quite stick to their plan, just having to buy a few perfect little gifts displayed in windows, for others. Rarely had she the opportunity of deep-London shopping.  While she smelled of a mix of tester perfumes, he smelled of Ultraviolet Man and growing impatience. It was time to curb it and get her own shopping done.

A floor aide, introducing herself as Sophie, greeted them.  The dress, the dress, the dreaded dress! So many hung around her that Saskia even doubted if this Sophia would know where to start. She incited Neil to sit on a luxury sofa, (while Christmas carols bleated mercilessly from hidden speakers) as Saskia was guided towards rails with attire that may suit her. Picking colours that complimented blondes, (which was seemingly the whole spectrum) eventually the selection had been whittled down to three. It was a bit of a relief for Neil to see her taking them into the fitting room. He expected to be lunch-bound within ten minutes. Mug. 

   What in God's name was taking her this long in front of a mirror? Half an hour. Half a ruddy hour and still no sign of her!  An accompanying 'victim' sat across from Neil, waiting for his missus to reappear, and they exchanged nods and witless expressions.  Both their heads whipped round at the sound of footsteps, but it was the other bloke who, at last, was granted liberation. As he made his way to the till with his wife, he threw Neil a commiserating smile. Seriously. How much longer?

   Neil started to randomly hum tunes out loud to mask the Christmas tosh surrounding him, convinced it was getting louder.  He was so fed up that he started venting his annoyance by talking at the mannequins next to him.  At this (slow) rate, there would be more chance of one talking back than Saskia having made her mind up!  But they seemed to have heard his plea. Out she comes for his opinion, wearing a very becoming lilac dress.

   Neil's face was blank. The outfit didn't quite receive the response hoped for.  

   'Well, what do you think?' she asked, while Neil's lips thinned into a grimace. 

   'It's nice, but I can't really say with the— ' he pointed, indicating the very much out of place hat on her head.

   'Just concentrate on the dress - ignore the rest of me.'

   'Kind of hard when it's staring you in the face.' The easiest thing to do was to simply say perfect - and they were out of there, ending all this festive-anguish. But when he's asked for an opinion, he delivers it.  Saskia gave a frustrated sigh.;

   'Yes, but the hairdressers not coming till five o'clock, and my hair's a mess right now, so it's staying on!'

   'You could whip it off, just for a mo—'

   'Not gonna happen'

   'And the umm.....' He then pointed to her thick, heavyset boots, which had been mostly hidden under her jeans.

   As much as 'for fuck's sake' was bouncing around in her mouth for an exit, she gave a little tense growl at his stymied attitude and constant aversion to clumpy shoes.

   Sophie was finding their exchanges amusing. Men usually gave an abrupt, agreeable opinion (when in reality they don't-give-a-shit) just to get the hell out of there, and here was a father - a man awash with gentry - in the throes of boredom and shop-weariness now seeming to be pissing her off on purpose. Still, they were rather entertaining.

   Saskia turned and took the other two contenders from Sophie, holding one up either side of her.

   'So, which one of these do you like?'

   'Which one do you like?' he said straight back at her.

   'Well them all, obviously... gimme ruddy strength!'  She turned to Sophie: 'Would it be okay to quickly try the aquamarine one again?'

   Neil's head jerked up at the word 'again'. 'No, no, I'm not hanging around any longer.'  He'd resigned himself to the fact that lunch would be well out of the question now, but a drink may not.

   'Why not?' 

   'Look, Saskia, just buy the three of them.'

   Saskia's head shot round to him, scowling doubtfully. 'Don't be ridiculous Dad, the cheapest is £300!'

   He shrugged and smiled and gestured with his hands. 'It's Christmas!  You can make your mind up at the hotel - surprise me!'

   Saskia's skilled collaborator looked at her with highly raised eyebrows, and a 'you lucky girl' smirk on her face. Time for her to capitalize further on her sales pitch with the foot factor about to butt in. 'We have the perfect shoe to match every dress?' Spoken in the form of a question.

   But before Saskia had a chance to reply, Neil stood up and took over: 'She's a size 5. Give her a pair to match each dress, just make sure it's a neat looking shoe and not a... ' Neil waved a finger at her feet, words failing him, 'bloody... chunky type thing!'

   The girls' faces exchanged mischievous delight at his comical descriptive. 

   'You mean platform, Dad.' 

   'Whatever. Just make sure they're nothing like those things you galumph about in!'

   'What the hell does galumphed even mean? Is it a Scottish word?'

   'No, it was invented just for you!'

   As much as Sophia could have listened to them for ages, she felt it was time to interject. 'So, a three inch court shoe?' she suggested correctly.

   'Yes, but I'd like the turquoise pair in metallic.' Saskia said, already having checked-out the shoes on the sly.

   A very satisfied Sophia watched in glee as a daughter's excitability near knocked her father down in thanks. That was the thing with the opulent, they easily cough up to ease their day; she made a fortune in commission through Daddy's Little Girls.  Had Saskia not disclosed the reason for the hurried dress hunt, she would have suggested chucking in accessories too, but she left some regard for their busy schedule.

He offered to carry her bags for her - which was always the gentlemanly thing to appear to do in a deluxe store after purchase. It had been her first experience of upper crust spending, whereas he had shopped there regularly, but never with a daughter, so it gave them a unique, two-way sense of importance. If happiness could jump she'd be swinging off those diamanté chandeliers right now. They said their polite farewells and he hankered even more strongly for that quick-fix drink.

   The second they were out of there she freed him of the bulge of bags on his left, latched an arm through his and he smiled fondly at the gesture.

   'Sorry that took so long...' she said, feeling she had to fit in an extra dollop of appreciation, not having expected to be coming away with three outfits.

   'No worries,' 

   'I feel quite bad now we've missed lunch.'

   'Wouldn't have missed all that indecisiveness for the world,' he replied, keeping deadpan, enjoying toying with her. 

   'Picked out a suit for tonight, then?'

   'Three weeks ago.'

   'Dicky or straight?' she inquired, referring to his neck wear.

   'Whichever one's still in the pocket, most likely.' 

   'Sure you don't want to at least get yourself a new... I dunno... aftershave or something?'

   He gave a cordial smile knowing exactly what she was doing - trying to fit him into focus (hers having been £1,500 pounds worth of focus) too.

    Stopping her suddenly in their tracks, he turned his head to look at her, 'Saskia, this was your Christmas present from me, lunch was only a possibility - we got there in the end. Let's see if there's a pub we can fit a swift one or two in before Marcus comes back for us.' 

   Jostling through London streets - her looking tawdry, him chic - was becoming one heck of a challenge and they were having no luck in finding a muted pub; his head peeking in doors, then straight back out again. To be expected really, this close to Christmas. Neil had rarely been the type that tolerated standing in places where he didn't know the clientele. No. They had no option but to make their way back to the drop off point to be picked up again, and it was during that wait that she wished she'd owned a pair of gloves.

They hit the shower at roughly the same time. His water flow was strong and cool, meant for a zing-hit, while hers was hot and steamy, meant for a pore-cleanse.

   Out first, Neil inspected his suit once again, double checking that it was stitch perfect, though he always travelled with a spare.  He'd plumped for one he'd worn only the once before; a dark greenish-grey main colour with a mild tartan through it noticeable when close up. His usually sharp mind couldn't recall exactly where or when that had been, but he was certain it was less than a year old.

   As yet he still wasn't sure what colour shirt would suffice (he had multiple to choose from with him too) as long as it was not office-white.  For round his neck, he had chosen a ribbon tie with a slightly stronger black and green tartan to it. Sorted. All he had to do now was get dressed and check up on whatever stage of preparation Saskia was at. Men usually have a headway advantage over women, but she had exactly one hour until their dinner date. 

He gave three rapid taps on her room door. 

   'S'open,' she called, 'just come in!'

   Neil entered, and Saskia greeted him towel-wrapped on both head and body. He was just about to remind her of their tight schedule until the incredulous gawp on her face kept him silent.

   'Wow, Dad!,' she scanned him head to foot. 'You look... amazing.'

   'Uh ... thank you?' he frowned, not quite thinking he deserved the laudatory reaction but he took it all the same.

   'No, I'm really impressed!' She loved the shape of his suit: jacket slim fitted with just the right amount of sleeve peeping out: trousers tapered and settling neatly on the foot.  'And you're not wearing tan or grey shoes either!'

   'Oi!' he snipped back at her. 'Where do you think I get my clothes from - Sunday magazines? I'm pretty careful in paying attention to what's happening in the world. Sometimes. Life's not just work and waste paper bins, you know!'

   Saskia smiled rather ruefully at him, then hung her head, as in shame, and this puzzled him.  

   'What's up?' he asked.

   She averted her eyes from his and swallowed, catching his look again. 'It's nothing, I just didn't mean to imply you were some kind of old fogy or anything.'

   'Don't be silly,' he dismissed her worry away with his hand, wanting to give her hug to reassure her she hadn't, the silly mare.  'Look, we've got less than an hour to get to our table. I'll pop down and see how the function room's coming along and let you get on.' 

   'Okay, the hairdresser will be here any minute anyhow. Oh, before you go, Dad, could you do me a favour?'  She picked up a plastic tube from the table and handed it to him.  'Rub some of this on my unreachables for me.'

   'Huh? '

   'It's body glitter,' she laughed at his mystified look,  'just over my back and shoulders please.' She turned round, posing like a scarecrow.  

   Slowly and somewhat reluctantly, he started to rub the squidgy stuff over whatever skin was on view, being careful not to rub too near to the towel-fold holding her decency up. God forbid that dropping down!

     'Jeeesus,' he said as he performed the grim deed, 'I'll never get this shit off my hands.'

   

Saskia stared into a long wardrobe mirror and was taken aback. Rarely did she look and feel so refined, until her tummy grumbled in unladylike fashion.  The very second she checked on the time, Neil knocked on her door. 

   'Coming,' a rather half-nervous, half excited Saskia called to him and he backed up a few steps, in wait of her appearance.

   On opening the door a strong waft of scent escaped (since knowing Neil, she'd sprayed perfume liberally around as if it were air freshener) and out stepped his very own starlet. With a smile unable to stretch any wider, he reached gently for her hands and spread her arms out for a better look. 'Simply beautiful.'  

   The dress that left the other two party-deprived, fit impeccably.  It carried a sweetheart neckline and a criss-cross of open panels down each side. The waist nipped in neatly and dovetailed to just under the knee in full circle. Her perfectly-matching shade of shoe, with it's metallic-look leather, saluted the subtle sheen of the dress. Opting for the aquamarine (it had a prominent advantage from the start) was the best colour to accentuate her hair. 

   'What's this?' he asked, lifting the long herringbone plait that draped over her left shoulder, falling to the front.

   'An extension the hairdresser attached for me. Looks real, doesn't it?'

   Freeing her hand, he gestured with a finger that he wanted her to twirl.  She spun a few times, the hem of her dress fully out, causing a small eddy of air around her knees from the movement, while her plait (which almost hit him) settled back in its prime position over those light scintillated shoulders once she stopped. This simple, unadorned dress was the perfect compliment to his suit. 

   'You mean the world to me, you know,' he told her in full sincerity.

   She stepped closer to him and stroked down his cheek with the back of her hand. 

   'I know. You're a sweet old thing really, aren't you?'

   Neil did not commit himself to answer her evincing sentiment and drew his gaze directly downwards, needing a second to compose himself.  After a short cough he lifted his head, then jutted his elbow out to her and she readily took it.

   'C'mon kiddo, let's go eat.' 

   Inside the lift, in a heavily accentuated Scottish accent - which he knew made her squirm - he proclaimed:

   'Don't know about you, but I intend to get blootered tonight!'

   'Scottish for getting pissed?'

   'You're getting good at this game.'

   They looked at each other, then snickered ridiculously.

                  end of  WASTED  CITY 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++    

Imperfection

        start of  **IMPERFECTION**

 🎠 Saskia's Fiat was still in decent running order, and despite the rather stiff exchange they had a few months ago on replacing it, Neil still dared to ask about its performance from time to time. Nothing too intense, just a mild, usually one-off inquiry in the hope it was perchance on its way out. But part of his 'punishment' for having had that dig at her beloved car and wishing its demise, came swiftly - just a few days afterwards. 

  While driving with him in tow, at every nifty left corner she took, she would deliberately and dramatically keel over, head flopping close to his shoulder  just to unnerve him. Of course, he soon became used to it and that particular silliness dropped, only making the very occasional appearance when he wasn't expecting it; like tonight on their way home from picking up their usual bottle of wine or two.  He was in the middle of telling her how unfunny that was and she really shouldn't be such an idiot in the dark, when bright lights and movement up ahead waylaid their conversation, drawing her into even more immaturity.

   'Oh, look!' Saskia said briskly.

   'What?' Neil answered, suddenly aware of fairground lights and movements peeking over some tree tops.  Now, around two yards closer, Neil could actually feel thudding vibrations from inside this potential rust-bucket; it seemed to absorb the pounding rather than bounce it off (decision made, she was getting a new car like it or not!)  The child within her stirring, and Saskia indicated to go right, and he protested instantly.  

   'We've no time for this, I've got that lamb marinating!'

   'Oh, come on grumpy-lamb-chops, I think you'll survive being a half-hour hungrier!' 

   Neil looked at her askance, catching her determined smile in profile, sighed and succumbed, knowing he'd do anything to please her. Luckily she found a space despite the only luminosity coming from the fair itself.

   Just as they made their way over the gravel to the entrance, Neil squished a white trainer straight into that infamous muddy grass, forgetting that they were returning from a modern gallery visit, in casual clothes. As long as he didn't look down at his feet after each step, he might survive this. His presence beside her, however, came with a stipulation,  

   'I'm telling you here and now that my arse has never gone higher than the dodgems and won't be sat upon any time here!'

   'Relax, Raptor, we'll stick to the arcades.'

   Then a smell, all sweet and strawberry-like wafted toward them, and just a few yards on a strategically placed van selling candy-floss lured you over, the essence alone stopping you in your tracks. And candy-floss was no ageist but a clever temptress, as plenty of adults were walking about picking off tufts of their childhood, till only the stick was left. Watching the skilled seller twist and shape with ease, it took only ten seconds until that cloud of pink delight was in her hand.

   'Want one?' Saskia asked, genuinely considering he might. 'They have them in blue, too.'

   'Why would I want one?' he piqued, becoming a little piqued.

   She shrugged, with an expression of pure mischief that simply irked him more.

   'And you shouldn't either, you'll ruin your appetite!'

   She couldn't help but laugh at his response, he sounded soooo ridiculously parental.  

   'What am I... ten!' she scoffed. 'There's no weight to this stuff, just melts the second it's in, there'll be plenty room for that lamb-thingy you're making.'

   If things weren't sugary-bad enough for him, while merging into the thick of the fair in their search for arcades, she turned at some screams, gluing her floss to the shoulder of Neil's black leather bomber jacket; they had hardly been in the place five minutes.

   'Oh, for fuck's sake!' he said loudly, (forgetting there were kids around) and gave a loud sigh as Saskia lapsed into panic mode, feeling bad about it.

   'Hold on,' she said, rustling in her shoulder bag while the floss, still in one hand, was flitting all over the place. 'I'll get that off right away!' But the makeup wipe just stained the leather even more.

   'Och, it's in your hair too! Right... ' He snatched the pesky stick from her and chucked it out of harms way onto grass between stalls, 'that's got rid of that!' Saskia made no protest, just gave him a piteous look as he said,  'I can only imagine you were raised a very sticky child!'

     

Making their way through the crowd, colour jumped out at them from every near-blindingly lit stall.  Beats from typical rave-like songs thumped through their chest, while piercing screams entered Neil's head and stabbed needle-like to his ears. He didn't know why, but he felt rather nervous passing some of these huge, maniacal-looking rides - especially with the wind that whipped from them -  preferring constructions of the still and solid kind.  But Saskia knew from the arcades, juvenescence would still spread and make way for older heads when the body can't risk speed or height. 

   It took them a little while to actually locate the arcades which were sited at the far end of the ever-worsening muddy ground, and they entered the nearest one filled mostly with old-school-type entertainment. Even Neil, old as he was, felt retrospectively suited here. And Saskia jumped for joy with excitement at a vintage two-penny falls machine and cashed two pound coins into pence, leaving Neil to amuse himself at the bandits, where he eventually come across one he could more or less associate with his underage pub visits.

   After a quick £20 worth of what he called hee haw (Scottish vernacular for nothing), Neil re-emerged at Saskia's side to check up on her luck. Every so often he heard her winning coins, and was immediately rapt by the challenge before her.

   Bringing his architectural side to the fore, he carefully studied the way the coins had settled. Her monetary plight had her down to her last two coins, and the pile through the glass in front of her teetered on the brink of throwing themselves off the edge. If his calculations on the way the stud placements were fixed, she just had to drop a coin and let it land nearer the left and the forwarding slide (or slightest vibration) should do the trick.

   'Right there!' Neil tapped with his finger the slot to fire it down. It zigzagged down, landing perfectly for success, but the push bar only managed to make it ride over other coins. Now she was down to her last twopence piece. Success this time, surely? But watching it bump down with baited breath, all that resulted in was a mild shift at the front.

   'Again!' ordered Neil, 'It has to go this time.'

   'I've no more!' she screeched, frisking herself madly for a spare coin but coming up with nothing; there was no way she was leaving the win for anyone else! Neil popped his hands into his jacket pockets for a check, and while doing so she in her frenzy plunged hers into his front jeans pockets, and with blithe unconcern was brushing his penis with her fingers in her mad search to find that elusive coin! He just stared at her in disbelief and she drew them free. 

'What?! I can't leave it like this!' she squealed. 

   'Calm down, woman,' he tutted, 'there's one at your feet - look!' By Christ, the girl was irrepressible!

   She quickly picked it up, rubbed it off her lapel for luck and shoved it down the same 'winning' slot.  Even Neil's heart was in his mouth. 

   Nothing. 

   Nothing but a shuffle closer to the edge.

   'What!' he said, long and loud.  'That should have dropped... sod this!'  He twisted his head around, checking the joint out. Everyone seemed transfixed with their own battles in the arcade, so gave the unjust machine a thud with his fist.

   'There you go!'  

   A hail of twopence pieces tumbled loudly into the winning dish near her knees, and she grinned hugely at the dastardly deed. There he was, this multi-millionaire thumping a machine for a pittance so his daughter wasn't disappointedly duped.  'Bloody thing's probably fixed with magnets!'

   She scooped her 'win' into her pockets, contented enough even though she didn't even break-even. They'd go into the charity jar at the cafe.

Their venture after the arcade led only to the paltry stalls on their way out.  Feeling elated, (Saskia scored surprisingly well at the rifle range where she trounced him) she walked with a stuffed-something-or-other under her armpit for the collective price of £12.  The furry horse-like thing would no doubt have cost a pittance to manufacture, yet she still felt it money well spent.

   'What is that anyway?' Neil asked, puzzled by its appearance. 

   'It's a unicorn, got a gold horn coming out of its head - look.'

   Hmm... doesn't look much like it to me. Anyhow, you're lucky. In the seventies you won a gonk.'

   'A what?'

   'Gonk', he repeated, bringing unfortunate tubular hand movement in on his description. 'Basically it was a toilet roll tube with some fur wrapped round it and a paper face stuck to it.'  

   'What was it suppose to do?'

   'Nothing. Just stood there staring scarily at you. Think my mum eventually used it to clean her blinds.'

   Saskia smiled, enjoying these strange tales of yore. He often brought his mother up in his memories though asking of her out of the blue could noticeably upset him. With his parents splitting when he was young could upset the balance of his loyalty. Though his mother never bad-mouthed his father, nor interfered in their relationship, Neil still felt a guilt factor for ever having trusted him.

Just ahead of them while making their way back to the car (dinner would be extra-late tonight!) a woman was trying to exit the grounds with her grandson, but the boy was protesting and pleading with her to let him on this certain ride.

   'But look, Nana...'  He stood in front of a paper height gauge glued to a post. 'I'm tall enough for this one!'    

   'Yes, I see that,' she emphasised, 'but it also states that you're too young to go it alone. I really couldn't stomach going on, son, I told you that before we even come here.'  The agreement was that dear old grandma would only partake in things that didn't include velocity nor heights.

  'Please, Nana! All my friends at school have been on it.'  

   The older lady - a woman in her latter fifties - stood and watched in terror at the vicious speed and twists of these lethal-looking contraptions; even the carousel had looked too rough for her liking.

   'I'm sorry, Simon, it's not happening. Come on... let's some ice cream or rock candy.' 

    The look on the little lad's face radiated devastation, and she was sure there was going to be guilt-inducing tears to follow; sugar was no trade off, no substitute for the thrill of his life. 

   'I'll take him on!' Saskia, said with alacrity. 'Can't have him being the odd one out in class now, can we?' 

   'Oh no, really, I couldn't possibly— '

   'Nonsense,' Saskia said, taking the situation in hand by slinging her toy into Neil's chest and hanging her strapped bag over his head to hold too. Grabbing the boy by his sleeve, she led him through the barrier before his over-fussing nana could do much about it.

   'I'll have to pay for him! ' she called after them.

   'I'll get it!' Saskia called back.   

   The young lad's face lit up. Not only had he just met his own Joan-of-Arc-in-a-park, but she was a babe - the kind of girl boy's on the cusp of teenage-hood giggled senselessly over. Out came his phone for a selfie, lest his friends think he was bullshitting them! 

   'Zip that phone safely before the ride takes off - put it in your chest pocket!' The uneasy gran called out to him. Thirty seconds later they took off with a mighty whoosh!

   Neil just stood there like a lemon next to the woman, adjusting his 'handbag' to the front, an oversized smile on his face.

   'It really was nice of her to take Simon on the ride. I told him it was out of the question before we even came here and he still chanced his luck.'

   'Kid's eh, what are they like?' Neil quipped back, as if he was some sort of expert.

   'Mind you,' she continued, 'it must be a little less worrying with your granddaughter being that bit older.'

   'Oh, she's not... ' He suddenly stopped his correction, guessing the changing lights and shadows did his age no favours, '...afraid of heights in the least.' It was all he could think of to fill in with. 

   During the pleasantries with the woman, a small fountain of what looked and sounded like nails or rivets hit the barrier enclosing the ride. On further inspection, he saw it that it was a spattering of twopence pieces.  

   Coming off the ride jelly-legged and adrenaline-rushed, the beam on the contented little lad's face was well earned.  Job done, thought Saskia. The woman once again thanked her and gave Neil a fond goodbye.

   'Here...' he threw the shoddily stitched unicorn for her to catch, and as he did so she noticed a silly grin on his face. She had to ask;

   'Okay. What's the Cheshire-cat face in aid of?'

   'I'm pretty sure she was chatting me up.'

   Saskia froze to consider this, then jerked her head up to look at him.

   'Really? Mind you, you two did look cozy, even from high up. You could have been in there, Dad!'

   'Nah!' he shook his head, 'wouldn't have worked.'

   'Why not?'

   'She thought you were my granddaughter.'  

   Saskia laughed, then put on a deep voice. 'Raptor!' she teased and gave a yelp as Neil got her in a sudden headlock and knuckled her skull. It was an impulsive move on his part; quite beneath him to show such ribaldry in public. Freeing her head, he put an arm around her shoulders and walked on.      'Besides, I've no time for another woman in my life - not with you around!'

   'Phew!' She mocked swiping sweat from her forehead, not quite realising how potently he meant it.

   As for his daytime hours he seemed to be conforming, building layer after layer of the homey, unscripted life he once knew. He'd enjoyed his evening far more than he'd dreaded it and was rather sorry to be leaving all the chromatic and recrudescence behind them. Tonight was a fifty minute lesson in fun - even with her panic-stricken sexual assault on him - despite the only things he was taking home were an empty stomach and mushy-muck from his shoes and she a bout of relief.

                                                           

The over-marinated lamb was too late to prepare, so The Bamboo Panda Chinese takeaway had taken over for tonight's choice of meal. The giggles were very much still with her but intensifying now as double-gauged glasses of wine were making up for lost time. Saskia sat by Neil's feet on the floor as he bent forward from the settee, laptop on the coffee table, moiling at some next-day scheduling. But nothing of interest on TV or her phone gave him the scope needed for full concentration and he had no choice but to acquit himself due to her endless chatting. 

   'Can't you amuse yourself for ten minutes?'

   'Nope. Bored. Besides, you said you didn't have any catching up to do.'

   He sighed and slowly folded down the screen. 'Old habits. But you're right. I did.' Nothing was so imperative that it couldn't wait.

   Quickly, she turned round on her knees to face him, one arm draped over his left  knee, the other sipping away at her wine. Looking up at him with those over-mascara'd big green eyes. 'You work too hard. All you'd achieve by doing that now is fitting in an extra coffee in the morning.'

   Gently he brushed a stray bit of hair from her eyes. Even yet, there were times he still couldn't believe just how radiant she looked, how mind-blowingly immersing she could be. Then he took sudden rise, giving Saskia cause to quickly swoop her wine from any spillage on the settee.

   'Wow, Dad! A little warning wouldn't have gone amiss - nearly caused a map of Bali on the couch! Hey, are you okay?'

   'Bit of a headache, actually. You know I don't mind you staying up, but I'm off to bed.'

   'Oh,' she frowned, he rarely complained of such. 'God, I hope all that fairground noise has helped do that... '

   'No, it's more likely to be the wine. We got through almost three bottles.'

   'I'll get you some paracetamol.' 

   She stood to head to a kitchen drawer, but he gently grabbed her wrist as she tried to pass. 

   'No, really,' he said, pulling her into a hug, 'it's fine, I'm fine... I'm always fine with you, you're all the medicine I need, just don't know the right dosage, I'd probably be tempted to peel the label off, - then where would we be?'

   Saskia frowned, pulling back to look at him. 'Dad... you're sounding gibberish, I don't know what on earth you're on about. Are you sure you're okay?''

   A plaintive smile crossed his face and he made a dismissive gesture.  'Ah, just ignore me. Think I might be a tad too drunk. I'll see you in the morning ... strong coffee.' He kissed her head, headed off and she watched until he slid under the sheets, making just a small bump under the spacious king size, where he lay staring at the nighttime sky. 

   Picking up the TV control, she lowered the volume and did her own staring at nothing in particular, trying to fathom out his drunken bosh. Then she shook the puzzler - and it's feeling of something left unsaid - from her mind and made a latte to take to bed. One thing was perfectly fathomable; goodnight's were getting harder.

            end of  **IMPERFECTION**

SATELLITE

                       **SATELLITE**

 📡 On his 56th birthday last year, he spent the whole day at work with not one iota of a hint to anyone that it was so. For his 57th this year, he decided he would push the boat out. Literally.  It seemed forever since the 'Sirena' had last passed along the Thames, and at Saskia's insistence that he had to mark the day somehow, he suggested they do just that. It had an upper function deck with room to facilitate a party of ten people, which was ideal as Neil only ever permitted the closest friends on board.  At one time he never skipped a birthday on his boat, it was a regular occasion when he was married, but despite the long absence he had it maintained and managed at a docking marina - a kind of nursing home for unwanted vessels with can't-be-arsed-with-it-now owners. He gave permission for the business to run it for engine and structure purposes four times a year, but in true probability it would be more like a dozen times.  

   So that was another money-spun buy Saskia was becoming inured to; gloriously rich people and their 'Oh, by the way, I've just remembered - I've a £100,000 boat tucked away somewhere, let's take a trip on it' - as if they'd just remembered nonchalantly that there was a packet of biscuits tucked away at the back of a cupboard.  Still, excitement loomed in a hard-to-contain fashion; this was to be his celebration, yet she was the overexcited one.  A while back she'd been perplexed; what do you buy a man who wants for nothing for his birthday?  A card, company, and the night remaining dry would be enough of a gift, he said. Nah. It needs to be stated personally too, she quietly mulled to herself.

   The part of the Thames he planned to journey along was scenic for a good few miles - his favourite sight being willow tree branches bowing down to bob on ripples, and houses along the river's edge had a glorious view of the boats that passed; a perfect accompaniment to garden Pimms and cucumber. 

   Neil also suggested to her to bring a friend for company (as he invited six of his own along), but weekday nights were unsuitable. As was she, most of her friends were at the latter side of twenty, and mostly married with children, and as she was one of the few that shuddered at the thought of babies (she'd never go gaga at all that goo-goo malarkey), so she was happy to endure a bunch of wrinklies instead of mini-shit machines for one night.  A car was to be sent to pick her up from the train station rather than straight from work (which she deemed would be 'embarrassing!), and it was only right she enjoyed a pre-drink with her father (who couldn't really wait to vaunt her off) while on board too.  A licensed driver from the marina was hired to steer the boat, allowing him to savour his night of endless champagne.

Tentatively, she climbed aboard, Neil holding her hand as he commented how fetching she looked in her flowing turquoise dress, though not quite enamoured with shoes looking unsuitable for climbing deck steps, or even dancing in. This was her first experience on a river boat, and it was less wobbly than she'd imagined. In fact, it felt comparatively as sound as solid ground. There was a mini-bar under deck and it looked relatively homely once you were down the steps. 

   Holding drinks while tagging along, he gave her a quick feel of the boat before the guests arrived - including a shot at steering, where she felt assuredly smug, borderline upper-crust almost, as she floated by feeling  - without looking -  the wishful eyes of those on the river's paths as she passed.  Another little taste of luxury that began to teach her that money can buy happiness.

   

They soon came to a stop at a car park by the waterside to pick up Fran and Delia. A delightful couple, but an oddly paired one. Saskia couldn't help but stare at Fran with his head looking too big for the rest of him. Barely over five feet in height, with sand coloured hair and fuzzy chin, but with, strangely, very dark eyes setting below his orange brows. Saskia couldn't help wondering if he'd just had a nice little spin on his wheel!  

   With them, an unexpected guest lingered at which Neil gave a rather deflated sigh, you've gotta be joking, playing in his head, as he forced a 'genuine smile' at the same time. Delia, his mother (a good two heads higher than her husband) was a well groomed woman forever in flat shoes and a wind-defying beehive structured meticulously on her head. She kissed Neil's cheek with fragility and made a huge fuss at her introduction to Saskia, grabbing her hands, taking one step back and ran eyes up and down her.  

   'My, my, what a young beauty you are - that dress is adorable!' She gently slipped her hands free from Saskia's, a sudden serious face near drew her eyebrows to touching point. 'I was sorry to hear of your mum's illness, but it must be a comfort to have your father in your life now.'

   Neil had filled them in on Saskia before their arrival. As Delia's manner was rather stuffy and direct, he thought it best to try pre-damage limitation so she didn't pick at Saskia with her rather luvvie- darling tone, too much. Delia was a woman often mocked at the golf club when Fran was not around, but she was an old friend's choice of wife - what could one do? 

   'Neil, honey, you don't mind us bringing Howard along, do you?' She smiled and turned round to her goof of a son and flicked him under the chin. 'His archery class was cancelled, tutor felt poorly, so he was at a bit of a loose end.'  

   'Of course not,' Neil lied, an effing big one with bells on - the boy was a posh, post-Eton nightmare!

   'Thought he might be a bit company for the lovely Saskia.'

   'I'm sure he will!'

   The flared-chino and corduroy-jacketed un-invitee briskly shook Saskia's hand (his firm grip flapping the under skin of the top half of her arm) and gave three hello's in a row. Fran, the mild mannered father was much smoother in his approach, so it was plain to see where his son's eccentricity comes from. With intro's over, they all headed for drinks, Neil exuding an apologetic grimace to Saskia in advance. 

   After two other guests, Rob and Sue, (who were blissfully down to earth) were picked up further along, and a few drinks had coloured the senses, Saskia took it upon herself to invite Howie - as he now asked to be called - up onto the main deck for a drink.  It was probably the most exciting offer he had had in years, so he readily led the way.  Once sitting down on the side bench he grinned constantly, catching her eye then looking away like a poorly controlled glove puppet. As much as his nervous manner was amusing Saskia, she thought she'd better help break the poor guy's ice as there was no way he was going to break it on his own; he'd most likely just sit there and melt. Then all it took was one question. One perfectly innocent, respectful query:

   'So, Howie, what is it you do?'

   Chuffing hell, he just galloped off, full speed ahead; she thought the bloke was never gonna take a breather. He banged on about about how he was in his last year of study in marine biology, having taken samples of seawater from all over the world and did she know that even the Thames had amazing organisms, and diapods?  All Saskia could fit in response was random: 'oh' 'yep' 'really' 'mmm' 'uh-huh'  kinds of input. When he told her he might even scoop a sample of the Thames to take home and microscope it tonight, she ashamedly pictured him falling overboard! She thought Neil was bad with hand gestures, but Howie was wildly throwing his arms during his convo - a hand even clipped her hair twice! As if things weren't bad enough, she also sat through his love of archery and a history of bow and arrows. After what felt like forever to her, he now felt satisfaction in himself that he'd 'impressed' her enough and at last directed a question her way.

   'Is it okay to ask, Saskia, - very nice name, I'm sure it's Russian - what profession are you in?'

   'Profession? Um ...  I'm kind of a, well, public server, you could say.'

   'Oh, I see, for the government?'

   'Not quite,' she gave a mild shake of her head. 'I serve tea and cakes in my mum's cafe.'

   'Oh, that's quite...' he struggled for a word to compliment this menial 'profession', '... noble.'

   Saskia curled her lips inwards, trying to ward off her desire to laugh, while Neil was hovering at the bottom of the steps, listening in on Saskia's agony. He reckoned he would give it another ten minutes before thinking up a rescue for her, but right now he was enjoying his eavesdropping.

   While the 'friendship' was forming, Howie was also getting another thrill from all the outsiders that enviously eyed the privileged boaters that passed, simply by sitting next to such an attractive girl, allowing himself the fantasy of them being perceived as an actual couple. Things were getting cringingly worse, as every time the wind blew hair around her face, he kept fishing strands from her mouth in what he considered a gallant gesture.

At long last the rest of the soiree came up the steps and joined them on the upper deck; she'd never been so relieved to hear company approach. The garrulousness of Howie was genuinely giving her a headache and she needed a break. Saskia stood as his mother stopped to smile at them both. 'And how are you two getting along? Famously, it looks like! Was he telling you about his hopes of becoming a professor soon?'

   'Mum!' he protested, giving some sort of a snort that doubled for laughter, while the boy flush furiously.

   A sudden vision of her cleaning her son's face with spit and a hankie sprung suddenly to Saskia's mind. 'Yes, he has,' she replied through curled-in lips, praying the microbe-talk was about done; she was rather brained out by his knowledge of all things boring. 'very much so.' 

   Taking a quick peek down the hatch she saw Neil staring up at her, a smirk of biting ridicule on his face. Calculating by this point that she would be in need of more alcohol, he ascended on deck to refill glasses with champagne. Delia sat down next to Howard for her top up, but a panic-stricken Saskia moved sharply, excusing herself. 

   Spending more time than necessary in the rather incapacious toilet, she tried to gear herself up for watery round two.  The boat's motion had stopped while she was sitting on the bowl as the last two of Neil's friends come aboard, so reluctantly released herself from the time-wasting latrine. Nipping a quick vodka into a glass from the drinks tray -  double; maybe even triple - she swirled the drink round in the glass, counted to three and downed it.

   Bracing herself - hoping the vodka would hit her quickly - she gingerly climbed the stairs, popping her head up like a periscope to seek out the whereabouts of Howard, relieved to see he had joined the newcomers in conversation. Neil espied the head of his daughter emerging gingerly from the hatch, walked over and reached a hand down to help her up, duly walking her over to meet Paul and Rosemary. It didn't take long for Howard to reattach himself to her and resigned herself ipso facto to it. 

Darkness was descending a few hours later and the boat's music and lights were upping the mood. The alcohol had very much soothed Saskia, and now she was up for anything. So when the mellowed birthday boy got her up to dance to a contemporary, catchy song - whose beat demanded 1950's type twirling - she did not demur. It was strange how his inhibitions and stoic manner transposed into an embarrassing-dad type, not giving a toss who was watching (or shouting to) them. After the dance, she followed her dad and they rested over the edge of the boat to catch their breath.

   'Dad, I didn't think you had all that energy in you, I could hardly keep up!'

   'Ach, there's life in the old dog yet! Has Hapless Howie asked you for a dance?'

   'Nah. I don't think dancing's ever been his niche.' Poor lad. His offbeat ways and clothes (hard to decide which was worse) didn't exactly warrant a wow. Mind you, the fascination that stemmed from a tiny sea monkey tank he got at eleven was at least assuring him a financial future; he was gregarious enough - for like-minded company.  'By the way... did he really just turn up out of the blue?'

   'Why? Did you think it was a set up, hoping you two would click?' he said with a huge grin. 'Maybe Delia did, she's been trying to marry him off for years. Quite taken by you, she was. Bet she's planning the wedding already!' 

   'Oi! I'd probably need an encyclopedia and be constantly pissed for that.'  She suddenly felt awful for mocking him, and for such an unfair appraisal of considering him a weirdo within minutes of meeting him. Howard really wasn't that bad looking, despite his sever side shed. On the whole she supposed it was down to one's upbringing. Parental infliction - especially by the mother; she felt she related a bit more there. Her own path hadn't been the one she'd pictured herself travelling along by now. How unforeseen events can muscle-in on the journey...

   Still speaking face to face, Neil noticed over Saskia's shoulder, the young man at issue approaching them. Keeping his face stiff, he spoke through clenched smiley teeth, eyebrows raised high like a ventriloquist's dummy,  'And here he comes.' But his advance was venial, he was merely over to say his goodbye's. It was now past 11' o'clock and he didn't operate as well out of routine.

   'Just to say we're off now, Mum's saying goodbye to the others. Thank you so much for such a pleasant evening, it beats archery club hands down. He shook Neil's hand and instead of shaking Saskia's, he risked leaning forward to kiss her cheek. ' Such a shame I couldn't interest you in joining, but I guess it is more of a man's thing!'  

   'I'm just not a very sporty person. Listen, Howie... how about a dance before you go? I know you said it's not quite your thing, but we could put on a slow number - no skill needed, just moving about in a circle and treading on each other's toes.'

   'Um, I don't kn—'  Not taking no for an answer, she grabbed his hand and shouted for a certain song to be played. He didn't know it, but by the end it would be the sweetest song he'd ever heard. 

   Delia walked over to Neil and watched them as they tripped their uncertain circle.  'Ah, look at them, ' she remarked,  'don't they make a lovely couple?' She gave Neil a nudge and he nodded his head in agreement, with a different answer inside it. 

       The second all the goodbye's were made, Neil turned to Saskia. 'Aah, that was really sweet of you, you'll have had his belly flipping.' He knew the dance would have meant a lot to the lad, but then spoiled the moment by adding, 'Probably the closest he'll ever be to getting laid.'

       'DAD!' she protested, giving him a light backhander to the stomach.

       'C'mon,' he smiled, 'I want to show you something.'

Leading her up to the head of the boat, he asked her,  'Can you remember that long tunnel we went through earlier on?'

   'Not really,' she answered, they all looked the same in daylight.

   'Well, we've turned and heading back to it. Don't think you'll forget it now. Look.' 

   She followed the direction of his pointed finger. Further up the river came a glow, like an orb sitting on top of the water.  'Wow!' she said, 'what's causing that light?'

   'Bit of a story to this. Apparently there used to be loads of accidents here - no person ever got hurt, but boats kept clipping the sides and fronts, causing damage. People got fed up as the tunnel lights set into the stone kept conking out, so some clever clogs came up with the idea of lighting it themselves as a kind of protest, and strung it with metres of lights. There's loads of solar panels round both the entrances. After a mention in the local paper to shame the River Trust, fellow boaters have been donating and adding lights themselves ever since. That was over fifteen years ago and it's become a kind of local tradition.' 

   'Ah... what a genius idea!' Saskia was well impressed.

   As they were almost at the entrance, Neil put a hand round her waist and pulled her closer to him.           'Here we go!'

   Weather-wise it had been glorious and the now night sky was a riot of crisp, shimmering stars, but this tunnel's lustre was made just as brilliant with reflecting lambency on the surrounding water. Caught up in the wonder of it, she pictured being in the inky sky, a star within grasping reach to put in your pocket. Such thinking one never grows out of. Barely two minutes later, however, it was over.

   'For something so simply made, that was breathtaking, Dad.'

   'I thought you'd like it. Magrette loved it too, every birthday without fail.'

   Saskia was touched to hear that, giving him a wistful smile and a sympathy nudge, resting her head on his shoulder, and he acknowledged her concern by snuggling her tighter to him with both arms.       Magrette had a tendency to linger in the depths of his mind and certain reminders of her still smarted after ten years. But despite that, he at least had re-established himself with his near-forgotten-about boat - a thing he most likely would not have done, nor even wanted to have done, had he not Saskia in his life now.

                       *                *                *               *                *                *                *

After paying the steersman of the boat firm handsomely for tonight's services, they were picked up at the closest point of the river, heading for home, and immediately changed for bed.  A rapid tiredness hit both of them, but there was as yet one thing she wanted to do, though still feeling hinky about it.  Midnight was creeping closer and in the end she decided to go for it, sitting straight across from him.

   'Think I'll be hitting the sheets in ten,' Neil announced. 

   'Yeah, me as well.'

   'Had a good time tonight, turned out to be quite entertaining!'

   'Wasn't it just! Actually dad,' Saskia leaned over the side of her chair and produced a striped navy and blue gift bag that she'd sneaked and tucked by its side earlier on, 'I've got a little something for you.'

   'Oh, kiddo, I told you there was no need.'  He was rather touched by the gesture; hadn't been given a present, nor wanted any, for years.

   'Don't get too excited, you haven't seen it yet!'

   It felt heavy and solid - a total puzzler.  

   'I decided against bringing it to the party tonight, I preferred to give it to you here.'

   Neil fished inside, pulling it out from lots of thin streamers. It was a pine and glass clock, around sixteen square inches; the wooden inner square had the face etched with numbers; encased round all the edges was three inches of thick see-through glass with a section of pure white sand laying along the bottom one.

   'I made it at woodwork class.'

   He stared at it, smiling hugely. Taking that as an obvious sign of approval, she bounded over, jumping to settle beside him. 'On the hour it rotates, and the sand falls again back into the bottom one.'  She took it from him and turned it round. 'See that little lever there?'

   'Yes?' He was even more intrigued. 

   'That has a mechanism that turns that cog to make just one square glass edge move - clock hands stay in the middle as normal - so when it hits the hour, voila - it starts making the sand fall. There's a curve of glass at each corner making sure it filters along.' 

   'Ah.' Neil clicked on, 'similar to an hourglass.'

   'Yeah,  more or less but quicker and at a right angle.'

  'Very clever.'

  'Well, I have moved on to advanced level - mechanical's, now.  Sometimes it looks like waves or a far off mountain range. Daft, really, but you can see what I mean.'

  Boy, was he touched. Bringing a lump to Neil Balfour's throat was a rarity.  'And you've been working away, making this for your old dad?'

  'Well, I noticed you didn't have one up, so... '

  He sat quietly in thought, letting the seconds pass, rubbing a thumb gently down the smooth, clear glass. 'Saskia...  I don't know what to say.'

  'Well, as long as it's not 'shit' you don't have to say anything.'

  He placed the clock carefully by his side and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her to him. Her tummy churned unexpectedly stronger this time. But she was being engulfed in his pride, feelings heightened by alcohol and the success of her gift - that would be why. Just normal simple belly flips. 

  'Right, young lady,' he announced, unwrapping his hold and placing the clock on the spare chair. 'I'm putting this up first thing in the morning, best get off to bed.'  He kissed her head. 'Want me to dull the lights?'

   'Ah, no, it's okay, I'll put them off, I'm going to mine.'

   'Night, then.'

   She watched until he reached his bed and slid under his sheets before heading to her own. So he had been stunned into silence, and never said shit.  Now she didn't have anything to say, but the word - albeit through a different context - was bouncing like crazy in her head.