With Age Comes Experience

Bob managed to make me keep my voice to an acceptable level and discreetly made sure I didn't overdo it. Then he ordered us a cab to take us back to my place. By now it was well past seven o'clock in the evening. Bob had phoned his wife Sue to let her know he's be staying with me that evening, because I'd 'had a bit of trouble'. He'd also phoned Reefer to ask a couple of brief questions, which went along the lines of: "Ok? You onto it? Be all right will it? Call us when you're done? We'll be back at Clem's soon, okay?"

"What was all that about?" I asked as I flopped back into the rear seat of the taxi, floating in a pleasant alcoholic haze.

"Just checking some business with Reefer," said Bob. "I'll tell you later."

Soon we were back home and ready to start on another bottle of scotch. Bob called for a Chinese takeaway, which arrived at the same time as Reefer. He ambled into the living room, carrying one of the brown paper takeaway bags behind Bob.

"It's the Reef!" I exclaimed, waving in salute. "Join us for some chinky, mate? There's plenty to go round."

"Cheers," said Reefer, in his usual taciturn, but amiable way. He nodded to Bob. "Sorted."

I was about to query this exchange when Bob interjected and slapped Reefer on the shoulder. "Nice one with that spotty twat at the pub, Reefer!" he said.

"Yeah, thanks, " I added. Then I regarded them both seriously. "Did you know she was two-timing me?"

"No," said Bob. "I only went in the King's Head today because Reefer said he'd be there. That's when we saw her with that lot of herberts."

"And I only went in because Jaq got fed up with me being around her and Sophie all the time," added Reefer. "She wanted a bit of pace, I expect. I suppose I can be a bit much 24/7." He winked at Rob.

"Sophie?" I queried.

"His daughter," added Bob.

"Daughter?" I exclaimed. I knew Reefer had got together with Jaq some months before, but I had no idea they'd had a kid, and said so.

"You never asked," said Bob, sagely.

"Been too busy, right?" grinned Reefer.

When I awoke the next morning, I had a mouth like sandpaper and a head that felt like a piston was hammering away inside it, whilst the bruise Baz had inflicted throbbed in accompaniment. I was on the couch, with the duvet cover from my bed over me. Bob and Reefer must have seen me right after I passed out from too much booze and too much self-pity. I lay there for a long time, contemplating all that had happened the previous day, until the sun crept round and shone down on my face through a chink in the front room curtains. I was pleased to note that all the empty bottles and takeaway cartons had been removed – Bob could be very domesticated, because Susan was quite fussy like that. I slowly stretched out and got to my feet and padded through into the kitchen to find Bob sitting at the table reading the newspaper. The wall clock indicated 11.10.

"'Morning mate," grinned Bob, "You for coffee?"

"No thanks," I mumbled with a painful grin, "I'll stay here."

Over coffee – no breakfast for me – Bob explained the significance of his exchange with Reefer on the mobile the previous day and Reefer's enigmatic "Sorted!" when he'd turned up later on.

It seemed that Reefer and some of his less-than-squeaky clean 'associates' had tracked Baz and the other yobs down to the crappy snooker hall they hung out in and had made it crystal clear that they expected no reprisals against me. It would appear that Baz and co were a group of plonkers Sammy had met whilst out clubbing and had thought they were 'cool' to hang around with. I'd tentatively asked whether Sammy had been there with them. Apparently she had and Reefer had also pointed out to her that he did not expect Hannah to learn of our relationship.

"He threatened her?" I began, angrily, realising the hypocrisy of what I'd just said.

"No, he doesn't threaten women," said Bob, "But he just pointed out that there'd be - consequences – if she tried to be vindictive."

"Where is she now?" I asked.

"Gone." said Bob. "Apparently her folks are due back home today and the house was pretty much trashed by Baz and his mates, so they'll go ballistic. Police got involved too, I gather. She's taking herself off to London and then going on Uni. That's what she said anyway."

I digested this news. What a mess. Still, it could have been a lot worse. I decided to let the dust settle and then see if I could smooth things over with Sammy. Perhaps we could put all of this unpleasantness behind us. She'd see sense when she was away from that bunch of morons. I was certain of it.

Of course, things never quite work out so nice and neatly, do they? I spent the rest of that day recovering after Bob told me he'd got to get back to his long-suffering family. In the evening, I tentatively tried Sammy's mobile. As I suspected, it went straight to answerphone, so I rung off and composed a brief text saying I was sorry and let's talk.

I had no response that day, but I put on a brave face when Hannah and Marcus came home from holiday the next day, which was Sunday. When Hannah asked me about the bruise on my forehead, I simply said I'd had too much to drink when Bob and Reefer had come over and tripped over. That sounded plausible enough for her – after all, I was her clumsy Dad.

Over the next two days, I sent three more text messages and an e-mail. Still no reply. I was furious and frustrated, my work was suffering and I was perilously close to losing a good consultancy contract due to me being late with my finished report. My anger reached boiling point when my e-mail bounced back to me. All this could mean was that Sammy had changed e-mail servers. I phoned her mobile, determined to talk to her, only to receive an 'unobtainable' signal. She'd changed mobiles or at least mobile numbers. She was determined to cut herself off from me.

I stormed into the kitchen to make myself a coffee, to which I intended to add a good measure of scotch. I nearly tripped over Rufus who was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. He yelped as I steadied myself against the work surface.

"What's your bloody problem?" I snapped. "Why aren't you in your bed? Go on – bed!" I pointed to his beanbag to emphasise my command. Rufus shakily tried to rise to his feet but they trembled and collapsed beneath him, eliciting a whine from him.

My blood ran cold. "Oh Rufus boy!" I whispered, dropping down next to him. "What's wrong, fella?" He nuzzled me and licked my hand, his eyes assuming a dream-like stare. His breathing was laboured and his back legs were twitching. I felt sick, all thoughts of Sammy forgotten.

The vet said that the tumour had probably been growing in Rufus' body for some time and, like many such tumours, had only just flared up when the host body became weaker. It was situated in his lower spine, hence his legs giving way. There were also secondary tumours in his lungs. Even if they could operate to remove them, the anaesthetic would finish him off, as he was so old. I shouldn't blame myself, the vet assured me, he was old for a Golden Retriever, he'd had a good life and there was nothing more I could have done for him.

Somehow I couldn't see that as I held my old friend's head in my arms as the final injection was given to release him from his pain and send him to a better place. This was my old dog, my best friend, and my faithful companion through thick and thin. This was the dog who'd growled and bared his teeth at Maggie when she'd tried to attack me with a kitchen knife years before during one of our more violent arguments. This was the dog who'd played happily with the children on the lawn when they were very young, putting up with them pulling his ears and tail, never once losing his temper with them. All of that, and I'd let him down in the last months of his life, as I'd been too tied up with some stupid, air-headed little bimbo young enough to be my daughter. I'd not paid attention to Rufus. And now he was gone.

Almost in a daze, I made arrangements wit the vet's receptionist to have Rufus privately cremated and his ashes returned to me, paid the bill and drove home, numb, beyond tears, beyond mere grief. I packed Rufus's bean bag, food and water bowls and toys away in bags like an automaton and put them away in the garden shed, as I couldn't bring myself to throw them out. I sat alone in the den, waiting for Hannah to come home, not relishing the bad news that I had to give her and the inevitable tears that would follow.

Two days later, things got even worse, if that were possible. I was sitting in my study, in the early evening, attempting to muster enough enthusiasm to finish the horrendously late report when Hannah burst in and threw a pair of satin red panties onto my keyboard.

"What's this?" she shouted.

My eyes narrowed at her as I picked up the panties. They were a pair of Sammy's and were stained with her juices. "It's a pair of panties," I said quietly, picking them up between forefinger and thumb and tossing them back towards Hannah. "Why?"

"They're not mine!" snapped Hannah. "I found them under my bed, in my room! If you must have your tarts round here, Father, I wish you'd tell them to stay out of my room!"

My tarts. Where had I heard that before?

I assumed that Sammy must have discarded the panties in Hannah's room some weeks ago and borrowed a pair of Hannah's, as her own were wet. She must have accidentally kicked them under the bed. Or maybe she did it deliberately?

"I beg your pardon?" I whispered, rising up from my chair.

"I mean, they look like they belong to some young bimbo!" retorted Hannah, "How young was she, Dad? At least you could get someone of your own age! It's disgusting!"

"Mind your own fucking business, you stuck up little madam!" I roared.

Hannah recoiled, as though I'd slapped her. "How dare you talk to me like that?" I bellowed. "Always looking down your nose at me! Always making out how embarrassing I am. Well don't forget who pays your college fees. No student loans for you, eh? Don't forget who paid for your holiday, you ungrateful little cow!"

Tears sprang to Hannah's eyes and she attempted to regain her composure.

"You're only saying that because you're upset about Rufus," she gulped, "I'm upset too dad, I – "

"What? Excuse me?" I sneered. "You? Upset about Rufus? When did you last take him for walk? Oh yes, busy with schoolwork, but he was an old dog, wasn't he? Not cool to be seen with an old, doddery dog is it? It's embarrassing, like me. Disgusting like me. He was old, he smelt, just like me, eh? Why not have me put down too? Don't make out you're upset about him, you snotty little cow! Not so very different from your mother, are you?"

"I'm glad I'm moving out to Uni!" she screamed. "You cruel bastard! I'm off to Marcus's!"

"Yeah, I'm glad you're going too!" I shouted back. "Go to posh Marcus's house then. Bet his parents aren't as embarrassing as me! At least they're fucking rich! Suits you, doesn't it?"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I'd said too much.

Hannah's face crumpled into floods of tears and she fled from the room, howling. I considered following her, but the slamming of the front door was testament enough to the fact that she wanted to put plenty of space between us.

I slumped down into my chair and shut down the computer. I sat and stared at the blank screen as darkness closed in around me, the only light being that from my table lamp.

That night, I reached my lowest point ever and felt totally alone in the world.

* * * * *

The doorbell snapped me out of my reverie. Was that her? Or him? Here already? I jumped up and walked to the door of the den, the smell of delicious Sunday roast wafting to me. "I'll get it!" called Hannah, bounding into the hallway. I heard the front door being opened and then silence. I waited by the den door for what seemed like an eternity of long agonising seconds, then Hannah gave a little squeal. "It's only Marcus," she announced. The silence had obviously been Marcus, fresh from his rugby match, giving his beloved a long, deep snog, followed by a pinch on the bum. I sighed and retreated back into the den as I heard Marcus join the ladies in the kitchen.

I sat down in the armchair opposite the comatose chocolate form of Ridley and smiled. The memories came flooded back thick and fast…

* * * * *

Redemption comes in many unexpected forms. Mine came – or at least began – one Saturday in early September that fateful year. I'd hardly seen Hannah since our argument. Nor surprisingly, she'd taken to avoiding me and staying more frequently at Marcus' place. She was also busy with preparations for her imminent departure to Uni, so I guess they deserved time together.

I reflected that once she moved into the halls of residence at Uni, I'd be pretty much on my own for good. Sure, she'd visit home – this was still her home too – but odd weekends, holidays and so on. I wouldn't have to cook for her, or tidy up after her or – I was going to miss her.

I apologised to Hannah for my outburst by leaving a huge box of chocolates on her bed with a "Sorry" note. She eventually started talking to me again, so one day when she was at home I felt sufficiently emboldened to ask her about Sammy, as I'd still had no word from her.

"Oh, she's bloody weird," said Hannah in exasperation. "Hardly ever calls me or e-mails me. Apparently she got into a load of trouble with her folks over this really rough crowd she got in with – met 'em in a club over Stockport way I think. She had them all over to her place for a party and one of 'em stole some of her Dad's money and her Mum's jewellery. The police got involved and they found fingerprints all over the place. Apparently it was this boy she'd been knocking about with – Baz I think his name was – and he had form a mile long. He was already on a two year suspended sentence for burglary anyway."

"So – er – what happened? What about Sammy?" I asked, as casually as I could.

"Well, they arrested him and a couple of the other guys he hangs around with – raided their flat and found drugs, jewellery and all sorts. I heard he got about five years because of his suspended sentence too. I think Sammy's Mum got most of her jewellery back. They were bloody mad at Sammy though and they've almost chucked her out. Good job she's at Uni soon."

"Will you see her again, what with her being at Manchester and you at Lancaster?" I asked. "Not too far away from each other and all."

"Oh, she's not at Manchester now," said Hannah. "She changed her mind, she's gone down to Bristol I think. They'd offered her a place originally but she opted for Manchester. I think she just wants to get as far away as possible from all the shit that's been going on with this Baz and her folks, so she asked if she could come after all and Bristol said yes."

Bristol? Just how far away did she want to get from me?

For my part, I tried to snap out of the deep depression I'd lapsed into after Rufus had died and Sammy had gone. Rufus I'd got 'closure' on, by burying the neat little casket containing his ashes in his favourite spot in the back garden. I'd planted a small rose bush on top, in the hope that part of Rufus would live on through the bush and its flowers.

My feelings for Sammy varied from day to day or even at different times of the day. Sometimes I wanted to punish her, make her feel bad for what she'd done to me, other times I truly hated her, or I might think I was completely over her and be totally indifferent to her, then all of a sudden a fond memory would pop in and I'd end up in heartbroken despair, wanting to win her back.

My work had suffered, but I did my best to pull it up to scratch again. I had a big push on several smaller jobs, clearing them out of the way to the best of my ability, sitting at my computer for long hours, fuelled by caffeine and, I had to say, nicotine, as I'd started on three of four cigarettes a day – and I hadn't smoked for years.

However, I was stuck on the biggest consultancy contract I had, the prestigious McIntyre account. It just wouldn't come right and I was a week over deadline. I'd had the Marketing manager, a bumptious little shit called Webber hounding me almost daily by e-mail and telephone, so I'd promised it'd be on his desk by Tuesday morning. If I fucked this one up, not only would I lose the second half of my payment and have to forfeit a penalty clause, the word might well get out that Clements was unreliable and this could have a serious impact on future contracts from other clients.

So, this fateful Saturday morning, I'd decided to devote the whole weekend – no matter how long it took or how few hours I slept – to finishing this bloody report for them.

So when Hannah marched into the kitchen early that morning, followed by Marcus and Bob, I was at first irritated at the interruption and then curious as to what the little bundle Hannah was holding under her fleece jacket might be, and what Bob had to do with it all.

"Hiya mate!" beamed Bob, with a knowing smirk on his face.

"Hello Clem," nodded Marcus.

"Dad – meet Ridley!" said Hannah unzipping her fleece and, with a flourish worthy of David Copperfield she deposited a small, furry brown ball on to my lap. The furry ball turned out to be a chocolate Labrador puppy. The puppy started furiously licking my fingers – it could probably smell the butter smeared on them from the toast I'd just eaten.

"What is this?" I said slowly.

"It's a puppy," grinned Bob. "I thought you'd know."

"Ha, ha, yes, but what's it doing here?" I replied, tentatively stroking the little creature's domed head.

"It's for you Dad," said Hannah, sitting down in a chair at the side of the table and cheekily taking a swig of my tea out of my mug.

"Why would I want this?" I said, trying not to return the puppy's adoring gaze as it looked up at me.

"Because you need a dog, because you miss Rufus," said Hannah, swallowing slightly after mentioning my old boy's name.

"Now look – " I began. The puppy stood up, put its paws on my chest and licked my face, paying particular attention to anywhere that tasted of food. My protests were cut short both by the puppy's ministrations and the swift explanations of the others.

"We drove over to the breeder's place last night to collect it," said Marcus. "It stayed at my parent's place."

"And what did you have to do with this?" I said to Bob, fixing him with a hard stare.

"Total complicity, mate," said Bob. "I found the breeder, I went with them last night, I spoke to Hannah about it."

"You don't have to pay a penny," said Hannah, "We bought him. All of us, between us. It's a sort of 'Thank You' present for being, well – a good Dad…"

"And a good mate." put in Bob.

"And –er – a cool guy, basically," added Marcus with a smile.

"I see," I said. My resolve was weakening as the little creature started to playfully nip my chin. I gently pushed him back into my lap whereupon he widdled on my trousers. Just like Rufus had done, years and years before when I'd collected him from his breeder. Tears sprang to my eyes and a hard lump grew in my throat.

"I – I don't deserve – this – you…." I stammered.

"Oh, stop whingeing and get your arse in gear, Clements," breezed Bob. "We're due on the green in 40 minutes."

"I can't," I protested, gently passing the dripping little horror named Ridley over to Hannah who hugged him. He grabbed a strand of her long hair in his mouth and she laughed, painfully. "I have to finish this report – it's the McIntyre account, remember? I told you about it a couple of days ago when you phoned."

"Oh yeah, I do now you come to mention it," said Bob. "Did I tell you that Gerald Waverley, the McIntyre MD is a member of my gold club? Says it's cool, enjoy your game and take a bit longer for the report."