Page 29 of The Little Board Game Café

Old. Her beloved dad was growing old.

She put her arms around him, drawing him in for a hug. He felt small – nowhere near as tall as she remembered – and thin, painfully thin.

And no wonder, she thought, as she opened the cupboards in search of something to eat. There were sixteen cans of cat food, but nothing for humans. At least he was managing to feed Smudge.

The cake and biscuit tins which had always been full of home baking when Mum was alive were now empty. Dad didn’t even buy supermarket biscuits. There was a loaf of bread in the freezer – heaven knows how long that had been there – and half a pint of milk, an old lettuce and a piece of mouldy cheese in the fridge.

‘Oh, Dad,’ she said. ‘What are you living off?’

‘I manage. No point doing a big shop when there’s only me. I wander down to the corner shop most days. Buy a few bits and bobs. It gets me out of the house.’

‘Why don’t you come and stay with me for a weekend? You could have my room and I could sleep on the sofa…’

‘The sofa? You’ve always said you and Peter had plenty of space?’

On the numerous occasions when Emily had tried to lure Dad out of Thornholme for a few days, she’d always emphasised what a waste it was having two spare bedrooms when nobody ever came to stay. But she’d omitted to tell him that she didn’t live in that shiny executive home anymore and that she was dossing down at Kate’s.

‘I don’t live with Peter anymore.’

‘I think,’ said Dad, ‘that I’d better put the kettle on.’

*

‘He said what?’ said Dad, draining his mug of Tetley’s. He’d made the switch from Yorkshire Tea after her mum had passed.

‘That I was surplus to requirements.’

Dad stood up and began to pace around the kitchen. ‘How dare he? How bloody dare he? After he made you leave your job at Thorpe’s…’

‘And then I made a bit of a mess doing some baking and he made it clear that I wasn’t to do any more baking in his house. His house. That’s how he saw it. Although to be honest, I did too.’

‘That’s a bit rich. Wasn’t it his suggestion that you moved in?’

‘It was.’

‘Mind you, I have got some sympathy for him.’

Emily looked up at him, surprised. ‘Sympathy?

He ruffled her hair. ‘You always did make a terrible mess when you baked. Whereas your mother…such a tidy cook.’

‘Thanks for that.’

‘Perhaps it’s for the best.’

‘You never liked him.’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. I think Peter is… a good egg. Probably. Just not the right egg for you. Pity you didn’t stay with Greg.’

Emily winced at the mention of her first boyfriend. She took the lid off the teapot and peered in. ‘Shall I make a fresh pot?’

‘Or how about breakfast at the café in the garden centre? My treat?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

*

It wasn’t far to Gordy’s Gardens. They headed straight for the café as Dad was afraid it would be full if they loitered too long by the bedding plants. He was right to hurry, as theirs was the last table.