How was our lonely daughter coping?
She was meeting Mr Big I Am, behind everybody’s back.
We felt sorry for her, invited her out; join our table for four and make it five, a meal at a pub on a Saturday night.
Yes, she was up for that.
Husband and I arrived at her house to collect Bella; she was not there. Her parking slot was missing her car.
We rang her–she’d be ten minutes–running late, we waited.
She zoomed into the car park, and hit the brakes. She jumped into my car. I lectured on careful driving; Husband lectured on tardiness.
Bella wittered on about a friend she had visited, the reason for not being home. This friend was having relationship problems. ‘Well, you’d know all about that,’ I sneered. Bella’s speech was slow, not slurred. She expressed she was tired as being the reason for that.
We joined our dinner mates in the snug warmth of the pub, ordered a meal, ordered some wine.
After gulping one glass of wine, our daughter was drunk. Said, this was because she hadn’t eaten, the alcohol went straight to her head. Up and down she went to the toilet and back.
She amused us all with her humour and tales that unique way of hers of viewing life.
I know today, what I didn’t know then.
I know today why she was late.