Deity

Who is he?’

‘He’s not you,’ she hissed, her face contorted into the expression of contempt, well-grooved on teenage faces.

As though physically slapped, Watson’s head flew back and his grip slackened. Adele was able to push him away. ‘What does that mean, Ade? I’m your father. I love you. I only want the best for you.’

‘The best? I’ve seen the way-’ Adele broke off and trained her gaze to the linoleum to avoid further confrontation, then looked to the door to close the conversation. ‘I’m tired,’ she said again.

‘You’re tired?’ Watson snapped back at her, laughing, ready to fling more vitriol. ‘What right have you got to be tired? You’ve never done a day’s work in your life. Sitting around in classrooms, writing poems — that’s not work. I work all God’s hours to provide for you and your mother and not a word of thanks. Money for your A-level books, money for your university courses next year, no doubt. More books, more expense.’ Again he ran his eye over her well-endowed figure adorned by designer T-shirt and jeans, tan leather Chelsea boots on her feet. She blanched under his gaze. ‘Even the clothes you wear belong to me and your mother, and don’t you forget it.’

Adele’s discomfort turned to sudden anger and her eyes started to water. ‘You want them back? Here.’ She began to pull the T-shirt over her head, exposing her bra.

‘Stop that.’ He grabbed her arm to prevent the T-shirt revealing more flesh. ‘Have you no shame before God?’

‘Shame?’ She laughed bitterly in his face. ‘Hell, yes, I’ve got plenty of that, Dad.’

Watson’s face creased in pain and he couldn’t look at her. ‘Don’t be like that, angel. I don’t want the clothes off your back.’

‘Then what do you want? Tell me what I owe you. Give me a bill. You’ll get every penny back.’

Watson’s voice softened and he held his arms wide. ‘Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, you’re so young, so vulnerable and yet you’re becoming . . soon you’re not gonna need your old dad any more. What’ll I do then?’

‘You’ll still have Mum.’

‘And don’t I know it.’ He smiled weakly at her. ‘How about a hug for your old man?’

‘I told you — I’m really tired, Dad. I’ve got college tomorrow.’ A sliver of doubt crossed her features for a second. Can I face it now?

‘What’s one little hug between Daddy and daughter? We used to have plenty of hugs.’ Adele looked away. ‘Is your boy-friend the only one you can hug these days?’ Watson sneered.

‘He’s not my boyfriend any more, Dad.’ Adele looked at him through her tears. The tears turned to sobs, and as she stood shaking in the cruel light, Watson gathered her into his arms and pressed her head on to his shoulder.

‘There, there,’ he whispered, rubbing her back, unable to keep the smile from his lips. ‘It’s all right. That bastard’s not fit to lick your boots. No one is. I’m here, baby.’ He stroked her hair. ‘Your dad understands. You stick with your old man. I’ll always be here.’ Watson put his hands on her shoulders and held her away from him to lock his eyes on to hers. ‘We don’t need anyone else, do we?’

‘What time do you call this, young lady?’ said a gravelled voice from the door.

Father and daughter were both startled and Adele stepped away from him. She tried to smile at her mother to mollify her, but it was a weak effort. Her father didn’t turn to face his wife but merely straightened, tight-lipped, and lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

Roz Watson seemed even smaller and more withered standing in the doorway, wiping the sleep from her grey face. She glared at the back of her husband’s head through piercing little eyes, despite directing the enquiry at her daughter.

‘Well?’

‘Sorry, Mum. I was just going up.’ Adele made for the door but her mum caught her wrist.

‘Have you been crying?’ Adele nodded without reply. ‘What have you done, Jim?’ she flashed at her husband. Adele made to speak but was halted by her mother’s raised hand.

Watson finally turned. ‘Nothing.’ He looked at her defiantly and for a moment their eyes met.

‘Mum, it’s nothing like that.’

‘Nothing like what?’ said her mum. Adele looked around the room seeking an answer but was cut off before she could summon it. ‘Bed.’

Adele rushed gratefully to the stairs and Roz Watson darted a final look of disgust at her husband before turning to follow.

‘She’s broken up with her boyfriend,’ said Watson, to her shrivelled back. ‘That’s why she was crying.’

‘I’m going up,’ she said, but making no move. Instead, she paused, turned from the door and walked up to him. She smiled up into his face and grabbed his crotch, kneading his manhood in her thin papyrus hand. ‘How’s my favourite soldier? Ready to leave the barracks?’ She pulled her robe aside and pouted up at him. ‘See anything you like, lover?’

Watson smiled weakly back, his lips not parting.

She laughed and scuttled through the door to the stairwell. ‘Don’t be long,’ she breathed invitingly over her shoulder.

When she left, Watson trudged back to sit in front of the TV. No power in heaven or on earth could make him bring forward the horror of their Sunday dry hump to midweek.

Adele sat on her bed in the dark, her face framed against the reflected glow of her laptop. She loaded Facebook and clicked on her personal details. A tear rolled down her cheek as she amended her relationship status to single. She then clicked to see who of her friends was chatting live at that godless hour.

Becky and Fern were chatting but then they always were. They shared a love of the trivial into which Adele had never been able to tap. They didn’t care about the homeless. They didn’t care about the environment. They weren’t even vegetarians. If she wanted to talk about boys or clothes, she knew where to turn. She’d known them both since primary school but had never felt able to call them close. Even now, at college together, they had little more in common than a couple of classes. And whatever friendship they had, it always took second place to Becky’s countless boyfriends.

Boyfriends — the thought returned her to the end of her relationship. She looked at the time. Half past one. Less than an hour ago, she’d been happy. Less than an hour ago she’d been in love.

‘Correction. I’m still in love,’ she muttered. ‘And it hurts.’ Not two hours ago he’d made love to her on a blanket in a field. He said he didn’t have enough petrol to drive all the way out to the cottage. She should have guessed then — he just wanted a final quickie. Then she’d asked him if he loved her. A pause while he pulled his trousers back up. Of course I do. That was her second clue. Then say it. I love you but I think we’ve taken this as far as it can go, Ade. You’re going off to university. You’re young and beautiful. You’ll meet somebody else.

She roused herself to forget and returned her gaze to Facebook. She scrolled down the list of chatting friends. There were at least a dozen online at that moment. She scanned the names, poised to click. A few seconds later, her hand released the mouse. Facebook friends. With a sinking heart she realised that she barely knew any of them, not really, not enough to pour out her deepest fears and emotions. A bit of goss and the odd social engagement was all she could ever share with them. She sighed then wet a finger and rubbed it over the dry salt round her eyes and on her soft cheeks. She cast her eyes around for a pen. She could tell Di. Di would listen. Di was her best friend.

A floorboard creaked outside her bedroom and Adele glared at the door.

‘Adele.’ Her father’s voice, hushed but urgent.

The girl didn’t answer. She pulled down the lid of her computer to extinguish all light and fixed her gaze on the door handle. It began to turn. Adele held her breath as the handle finished its rotation and the door was pushed to open. It caught on the back of the chair propped under the handle and remained closed.

‘Adele.’ She picked up the rising tide of anger in her father’s voice but knew better than to reply. From deep within the house, Adele heard her mother’s voice, but too indistinct to decipher. The door snapped back on to the latch and the handle was still. Her father paused motionless on the landing then managed a cheery, ‘Night, Ade,’