Our family unit was changing.
We took our last holiday together. All dressed for home Laura knocked a glass of coke over her dad. Stress of travel, stress of returning to work gave him a short fuse and he blew. When he had vented, Laura looked at him and said, ‘Well, if you think I’m coming on holiday with you again you can forget it.’
That summer Laura holidayed with friends at a caravan park, not too far from home. The girls came back with boyfriends. This courtship lasted, in written form, for a while. I searched out one of those letters then wished I had not: crude drawings of sex acts sent to my daughter. I shoved the letter back in the envelope. Their communication came to an end.
Laura’s hair is dark, jet. Her eyes are brilliant blue. She has a quality that you would describe as stunning, a unique looking girl. And so she found makeup. She worked like an artist on her eyes to perfect a dramatic look, her way not mine. I spoilt her with fashion, we shopped for the latest designs.
Laura was noticed by a popular boy at school and taken on a date. It did not last. She had tasted admiration and wanted more. Sadly the boy killed himself through dangerous driving. A tragic loss for the town, his family, and friends. It was Laura’s first funeral that of a teenager’s wasted life. Her dad drove past the gathering, reported home that Laura had been smoking a cigarette.
Not the first time she had been spotted inhaling. Not the first time she swore never to smoke cigarettes again.