On hearing the tale from the New Girl’s mum about the dark lies Mr Big I Am shared with all his new conquests, I returned home and abandoned my groceries. I flung the bathroom door open, my unsuspecting daughter sat in a bath full of bubbles. I screeched, I raged about the tale I had just been told. A tale Laura knew to be disturbing. I reiterated Mr Big I Am’s dead parent lie which was circulated to all women of interest to capture a weak and vulnerable heart.
Laura grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her body without drying. She marched to her room. She connected to Mr Big I Am via her mobile phone, then emerged herself back under the bubbles. She had locked the bathroom door.
Ten minutes rushed by, flash car did not come up the drive but parked on the road instead. Suited and booted, Mr Big I Am strode up the drive, and gave a firm rat-a-tat-tat on the front door. ‘What do you want?’ I asked.
‘To see Laura.’
‘You can’t she’s in the bath.’
He delivered a cold stare much meaner than mine. ‘You can’t stop me seeing her.’ I sidestepped to give him access. He took the stairs two at a time to gain entry to the bathroom. A half hour dragged by. He slammed the front door.
‘Everything’s sorted,’ Laura said. ‘He’s going to have words with New Girl about her mum.’ The mum with tales to tell. Could Laura not see what a dangerous waste of space Mr Big I Am was? Apparently not. In the mist of bubbles, he asked Laura to marry him.