“Well remember that she’s technically the one paying for my half of your dance lessons.”
She yawned and nodded. I noticed the dark shadows under her eyes, prominent now the stage make-up had been erased. There had been too many late nights this week for her; I needed to get get stricter on bedtimes and weeknight activities, which was difficult when she spent a lot of evenings at her friends or grandparents’ house.
The doorbell rang a shade before half past, perking Lauren up. I shook my head, knowing that nothing I said would stop her from asking Simone a million-and-a-half questions.
My boss looked nervous as she stood on my doorstep. She held two bottles in her hands, both of which I recognised as being her own brews. There was a dandelion and burdock which she made using a traditional recipe and what I figured was elderflower wine. She would’ve picked the elderflowers herself.
“You found it okay?” I had no idea where she lived but I imagined it to be some big grand house. I had an idea of the profit she was making from both restaurants so I knew she wouldn’t necessary be in something like ours. My house was modest, small, but big enough for the two of us and inexpensive enough so that Lauren would be able to go to Italia Conti’s – her dance school of choice – if she wanted to.
“I grabbed a cab from the Tube. I know I’m early…”
“It’s fine. Come in. Lauren’s stayed up to meet you. I apologise in advance for anything she might say and absolve myself of any responsibility…”
“Dad!” Her yell was deafening.
I took the bottles out of Simone’s hands, not asking where the bag was that she would’ve carried them in and left her and my daughter to stare at each other.
“You look like a dancer.”
Lauren’s words took me by surprised. Of all the things I’d expected her to say first, that was not it.
I hadn’t seen it before, but she did. And, more to the point, she moved like one too.
“I was. I stopped when I was seventeen. How was your show?”
Lauren nodded. I recognised the expression she made when she was making a judgement.
“Good. Hard work. Especially on top of school. Why did you quit dancing at seventeen?”
Simone pulled off her shoes. Lolly wasn’t scaring her off any time soon.
“My dad stopped paying for dance lessons because he wanted me to go to chef school. And my boobs had grown too big for ballet. I changed to ballroom and Latin American but he was less impressed with that. You’re lucky.”
“I know. So are you. You have the best chef ever working for you. He said you’re working on a menu tonight? Does that mean he gets a say? I know he’s my dad, but he’s pretty effing awesome at making up dishes.” She was on her knees on the sofa, her enthusiasm pouring out of her.
My little girl had always been my biggest champion and as sweet as it was, I could see that Simone was a little unsure of how to handle an overheated teen.
“Lolly, will you go and pour all of us a drink.” I shoved the bottles towards her. “You can have a small glass of the elderflower wine if you like.”
Her expression clouded with confusion. She was curious about alcohol – less so than I had been at the same age, but still keen to ‘try’.
“What about the dandelion and burdock? Can I have that? I haven’t had it since I was so young….” She looked at me and then Simone.
“I brought it for you.” Simone’s words were rushed. “I didn’t know what you’d like and I wasn’t sure if you’d be up or…”
“I love it. Have you made this?” Lauren studied the bottle as if it had the answers to her next maths test written on it. Maths was not her friend.
“I did. I collected the ingredients too. It’s all yours.”
She was standing ramrod straight, almost frozen to the ground and I guess she had no experience with teenagers or any children. But then, what did I know.
“Go pour drinks for us, Lol, then take yours up to bed. We have work to do.”
Lauren grumbled but untangled herself from the nest of blankets and headed into the kitchen.
“That was my lovely, sweet, angelic daughter who turned into a witch slash demon hybrid about eighteen months ago.” I sat down where Lauren had been and picked up my notepad from the table next to me.
“You don’t need to apologise. She seems bright. And tired.”
