Love and Devotion by Erica James

done with, she’d gone along with it. The first time had been the let-down she’d expected. It hadn’t hurt, but then it hadn’t been all that great either. But the second time had been okay. The third and fourth time she began to see what all the fuss was about.
    When Mum and Steve had met her at the airport she’d been convinced that they would take one look at her and guess. But she should have known better. They were so cross - they’d just heard about the strike at the airport - that not even a sticker on her forehead with the words ‘All Shagged Out’ would have made them pay attention.
    For some reason she thought of her father and, not having spoken to him for some time, she got off the bed, turned down the volume on Karma Police and dug around in her rucksack for her mobile. The one thing you could count on with Dad was that he always had time for you. She’d phoned him once when he was in the middle of bidding at an auction; he’d kept chatting with her and only asked her to hold on when the bidding got really serious.
    Within seconds he answered. ‘Hi Bobtail,’ he said, ‘how was France? Have you brought me back a present? A pretty little Lalique bowl would be nice.’
    ‘I’ve got you a bottle of wine and a T-shirt with Je Suis un Rockstar on it.’
    ‘Sweetkins, you shouldn’t have.’
    ‘I know, but I’m like that. All heart.’
    ‘So come on, tell me all about the trip. How was chez Leon? Did they treat you well? Did you go up the Eiffel Tower? Have you come back stinking of Gauloise and Camel cigarettes and with a liking for incomprehensible black and white films shot from arty angles?’
    ‘Easy there, Dad. You’ve got to handle those stereotypes with care. How about I come round and see the new house and tell you all about it?’
    ‘When do you want to come?’
    ‘Now would be great but I don’t think Mum would appreciate driving me anywhere tonight.’
    ‘Tired after her romantic trip away with PC Plod, is she? That’ll teach her.’
    ‘No, it’s got nothing to do with that; it’s Steve’s car.’ She started to tell her father about Suzie being in trouble.
    ‘Damn!’ he interrupted her. ‘I knew we wouldn’t get away with it.’
    ‘You knew?’
    ‘Yes. Your sister asked me to lend her the money to get it put right and, thinking I could do better than that, I stepped in and organised for it to be fixed. Trouble was, the only garage that could do the job at such short notice wasn’t exactly the best. On a scale of one to ten, how mad is Steve?’
    ‘How would you rate six inches off the ground with incandescent rage?’
    ‘Highly amusing if I didn’t feel so sorry for Suzie. Does he know I had anything to do with it?’
    ‘No. Suzie hasn’t said anything. Well, not to my knowledge. But then I’ve been up here in my bedroom for the last half-hour, so for all I know, he might have got the thumbscrews out by now and be extracting a full confession.’
    ‘Sounds like Suzie needs a good defence lawyer. Shall I just happen to be passing and call in?’
     
    With the second load of holiday washing now in the machine, Maxine was staring into the freezer hoping for inspiration. It was the worst thing about coming home after a holiday - trying to summon up the enthusiasm to cook again. More often than not Steve cooked, but tonight he wasn’t capable of boiling an egg. He was currently upstairs in the shower, trying to calm down. Maxine had never seen him so furious, and frankly, she didn’t blame him. If Suzie had bumped her new car she’d be hopping mad. What the hell had Suzie been playing at? If it wasn’t one thing with those girls, it was another.
    And the shame of it was, she and Steve hadn’t managed to get a week away together - just the two of them — in ages, and when they did manage it, it was ruined. You had to wonder if it was worth the effort. Perhaps they should have taken a week off work and just stayed at home. That way Suzie wouldn’t have dreamt of