Mr Big I Am had a house, a starter home, Laura spent time there. He had bigger plans and laid a deposit on a detached, a new build. He wanted my daughter to move in with him.
‘Don’t,’ was my advice. ‘It’s early days after that other upset from your cancelled wedding, all that heartache.’ With a frown on her brow, she agreed.
‘Mr Big I Am doesn’t like to come home to an empty house, he doesn’t like to live alone,’ Laura told me.
Laura told us a strange thing: his parents were alive, and divorced. Mr Big I Am had sisters, a whole bunch of them.
Husband and I showed concern, alarm bells chimed. But, Laura enjoyed the lifestyle Mr Big I Am provided. She dismissed the tale of dead parents, said it was a misunderstanding. Another lie brushed away into the cobwebs.
Mr Big I Am’s starter house was sold, his new build was not ready forcing him to move in with his very much alive father.
Husband and I planned to jet off abroad. Before suitcases left the house, Laura asked whether Mr Big I Am could stay in our home whilst we were away, to afford him a break from his father. ‘No,’ we chirped, loud and clear. Husband added, ‘We’ve not even met the lad.’
We returned from the holiday late at night, tanned and tired. Laura jumped out of bed, ran downstairs to greet us, said how much she had missed us.
Mr Big I Am had left clues of his weeks stay in our home. He wanted it known that our daughter had betrayed us.