Chapter Fifty-One
Taking my parents out to dinner was always hard work.
Trying to make sure my father didn’t lose his balance while directing my mother’s walker, was tricky.
Frankly, it should have been my father using the walker and my mother sitting in a wheelchair. However, due Dad’s stubbornness, it was best to give in and let him use his sticks rather than nothing at all.
Part of my father’s refusal to use a walker was due to his crush on one of the waitresses. He wanted to appear as a man who might be a little stooped but who was otherwise a virile silver fox. Indeed, Dad was a man with a twinkle in his cataracts and a fine line in flirtatious patter.
If my children believed having a relationship at my age was rather ewww, heaven knows what they’d have thought if they’d seen their grandfather in action.
Heads always turned when we clattered into the restaurant. This was mainly due to my father’s sticks hitting people’s legs as his eyes sought the object of his desire.
My mother was a different matter. She staggered inside, breathless from exertion, all the while shrieking, “Where am I going?” before crashing her walker into chairs and diners alike.
By the time we were seated at a table – walking paraphernalia stowed to one side – I felt as if I’d run a marathon.
A beaming blonde woman approached our table. A badge pinned to her ample bosom informed everyone that her name was Gemma. Dad’s eyes lit up.
‘How are my favourite customers?’ said Gemma, handing out three menus.
‘We’re all very well, thank you,’ I said with a smile.
‘And all the better for seeing you, my darling,’ said Dad, patting Gemma on the bottom.
She looked momentarily startled, then took a discreet step to one side.
‘What are we all having to drink?’ she asked.
Dad batted his eyelashes coquettishly.
‘Double gin and tonic. Tell me, dear girl. Would you be allowed to join us?’
‘Er, Dad, Gemma is working,’ I pointed out.
‘Oh, you’re so sweet,’ said Gemma, playing along. ‘But I don’t think my boss would approve.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Dad. ‘Tell your boss to sod off. How dare he refuse my favourite girl a break.’
‘Ha, ha,’ tinkled Gemma, unsure how to respond.
Whenever around her, Dad always behaved like a lovestruck schoolboy. Recently, however, it had started to get embarrassing.
‘I’ll have a Prosecco, please,’ I said quickly. ‘And Mum will have a tonic water.’
‘Coming right up,’ said Gemma.
‘That’s my girl,’ Dad cackled. He lunged sideways and caught hold of Gemma’s hand. ‘At my age, those words are magic to my ears. A woman who comes quickly. Ah ha ha ha!’
There was a stunned pause. Omigod. What had my father just said? He’d well and truly crossed the line between flirting and smutty innuendo. Gemma and I exchanged a frozen smile before she turned and hastened off.
I rounded furiously on my father.
‘What the bloody hell are you playing at?’ I spluttered.
‘What?’ said my mother, snapping out of her stupor. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ I muttered, while glaring at my father. ‘Behave, please.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said my father nonchalantly. ‘I was simply making conversation with our waitress.’
‘Was he flirting?’ said Mum, her eyes narrowing.
‘No,’ I lied.
The last thing I needed was my mother kicking off in public. It was bad enough that she thought my father was having affairs with their doctor, the postmistress, and all the checkout girls at the supermarket, never mind our waitress.
My mother reeled her neck back in and disappeared behind her menu.
‘And stop being so touchy-feely with Gemma,’ I hissed.
‘Oh leave me alone, Maggie,’ Dad retorted. ‘Take one of your chill pills. I’m simply having a bit of fun.’
I pursed my lips and studied my own menu. However, I noticed when Gemma returned to take our orders, she stood next to me, rather than my father.
Likewise, when Gemma brought our meals to the table and, later, cleared the plates, she was stationed at arm’s length from my father. He, in turn, was put out at having his fun halted.
When I eventually drove the parents back to theirs, it set me wondering what my father had been like as a young man. In his youth, he’d been a good-looking guy. I could still remember, as a child, how my mother had accused him of having affairs. To this day I had no idea if he’d ever messed Mum about. I was momentarily tempted to ask him, but then dismissed the notion.
Sometimes secrets were best left alone.