Lissa set the table for dinner, and was just wondering whether to set a place for Mike when the doorbell rang. She rushed to the door and opened it, to see him standing there, grinning slightly sheepishly.
“I was in the area…!” he began, but was smothered by her hug. Lissa looked around, and, seeing no sign of their parents, planted her lips on his in a deep, wet kiss, her tongue rubbing along his. Mike responded just as hotly, his hands slipping down to circle her waist, then quickly squeezing her bottom, making Lissa grind against him, almost forgetting where they were.
“I thought you were going to call! I’m so glad you came, Mikey!” she whispered, then backed away slightly as her mother poked her head out of the kitchen.
“Who is it Lissa… Oh, Michael, you came, thank you darling! Lissa said you were up at Salisbury Plain today. I did wonder if you’d come over!”
Mike slipped in and shut the door behind him, tugging off his waxed jacket and hanging it on a coat-hook before hugging his mother. At nearly 50, Brigitte Sheridan was a tall, elegant woman, an older, taller version of her daughter, her rich, bright copper hair only now beginning to be threaded with grey, with the same sparkling grey eyes, and the same bright smile.
“You don’t come by nearly often enough, sweetheart…” she began, stopping as she felt him tense.
“Yes, I know, I’m sorry, Michael, I won’t bring it up again! Go on through, sweetheart; make yourself comfortable. Your father’s upstairs, but he’ll be down in a minute.”
Mike relaxed, but the hard part was yet to come; somewhere close at hand was his father, John, and Mike knew that his father, after cursory table-talk, would inevitably swing the conversation back to the one bone of contention that lay between them; he always did it; somehow, he managed to turn the conversation around and bring it up yet again, and then the argument would start, until finally Mike flared up and stormed out, usually absenting himself from his parents’ home for months afterwards.
Lissa tugged him into the lounge, closing the door and backing him into it so she could kiss him properly.
“God, I missed you!” she breathed, when she finally broke their kiss, grinning at his slightly glazed expression.
“Mikey, please, when he starts, please, please, just ignore it; just give him ‘yes, sir, no sir, three bags full, sir’, or he’ll move onto Reason 687 for why you made a wrong choice at university! Just do it for me, please, Mikey? Don’t take the bait, baby; he always pushes your buttons; don’t let him do it this time!”
Mike grinned, nodded, and pulled her close for a quick, heartfelt kiss, and a last squeeze of her deliciously firm bottom, before the sound of their father’s tread on the stairs told them it was time to act normally.
John Sheridan shook hands genially with his son, asking deliberately non-controversial questions about his job, his house, the Civil Service in general, and Mike started to uncoil inside; perhaps his father had finally tired of the same old argument and had given up baiting him.
When they went in to dinner, the atmosphere had warmed, and both his mother and Lysette were relaxed, smiling and bantering; all was going well, no sharp comments or caustic little jibes, until they were eating dessert, a plum roll Brigitte was an expert at making, and Mike’s favourite dessert for as long as he could remember.
Then it happened. John paused, looked at Mike, and smiled across the table at him.
“You know Mike, we still have an associate place at the practice; I’ve been hoping you’d consider taking it up. After all, footling around on military sites may be alright for some, but you… well, you could be doing so much better for yourself…”
Dead silence reigned, broken only as Mike dropped his spoon and pushed himself away from the table. He cocked an eyebrow at John, a gesture he knew his father particularly disliked, and smiled sardonically as he wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin onto his plate.
“Well done, dad; I was hoping to get through this evening without coming back to that, but all the time I was wondering how long it would take you to go there. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to be an architect, I’m not interested in being an architect, I don’t like the thought of working with a bunch of architects, and I particularly don’t want to work for you!”
John’s face hardened, while Lissa and her mother exchanged apprehensive glances, both of them wondering how it would end this time.
“All I want is for you to make something of yourself…!” his father began, only for Mike to cut him short.
“I am something! I have a great job, a good and clear career path, and I like what I do! If you don’t like it, dad, that’s really not my problem. Nothing you can say or do is going to change how I feel; after the hundreds of times I’ve told you, I would have thought you’d have listened at least once; apparently not. I promised Lissa I wouldn’t get into this with you, so it stops here, because I’m leaving, now, before one of us says something they’ll regret! Mum, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sorry, I have to go now. Lissa, can I speak with you in private, please?”
John bridled.
“Michael Sheridan, just where the hell do you think you’re going? Sit down this instant. This is my house, and I will have my say, and you’re going to shut up and listen for once!”
Mike cocked that eyebrow at him again, infuriating him even more.
“No, dad, I’ve heard it all before. I wasn’t interested then, I’m not interested now. You coming, Lissa?”
Mike stood up and pushed his chair back, bent over to kiss his stunned mother, and flicked his gaze over his father, who refused to look at him as he left, patting Lissa on the shoulder as he left the room. Once he was outside in the hall, Lissa rounded on her father.
“Why do you always do that? You always belittle him, why? He did so well at university; he landed a plum job with the civil service; he never took a penny from you all through uni; he worked three jobs, he did everything for himself, and yet you take snide little digs at him every chance you get! What’s the matter with you, dad? You bitch and moan about how he never comes home, and when he does, he’s not here for an hour before you drive him out the door again! Why is it always me who has to go and apologise to him for you? Why are you so bloody stiff-necked when it comes to him? No wonder he never comes here anymore!”
Her eyes were glittering as she spoke, and an angry tear ran down her cheek.
“Mike made himself; he’s not you, so it’s about bloody time you acknowledged that fact, dad! Once day soon, you’re going to regret it; he’ll never come back, because you keep driving him away; why can’t you just give it a bloody rest?”
She walked out of the dining room, not quite slamming the door after her. Brigitte looked sadly at her plate, unwilling to look up at her husband. When she spoke, it was softly, her tone sad.
“She’s right, John; why do you always do that? I had such high hopes for tonight; poor Michael hasn’t been here since last Christmas, and you drove him out then, too. All I wanted was a nice family dinner, all of us around the table, just once, but you had to go and start on him again, just like you always do, and you drove him away, just like you always do.”
She paused to deliberately push her plate away and stand up.
“Is that what you want, John, for your son to hate you? Because you’re going the right way about it; I never see my son. He graduated three years ago, and he’s been here only three times, each time for less than an hour; my son lives ten miles away and I’ve only seen him for three hours in those three years, and it’s your fault! Lissa’s right, you never leave him alone, you always know better than him.”
She sighed and dropped her napkin om her plate.
“You can clear up here, I’m going to bed. I’ll stay in the guest bedroom tonight; I want to be alone.”
In the hallway, Lissa hugged her brother as he slipped his jacket back on.
“Mikey, I’m sorry, I really thought he’d leave it be, just once…”
Mike hugged her back, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her floral shampoo.
“You don’t need to apologise for him, Lissa, it wasn’t your fault; I should have known better than to come here…”
He turned to leave, but Lissa pulled him around once more and kissed him, hard, her tongue brushing against his as she held him close. She broke away and grinned at him.
“You go now, Mike, I’ll see you back at the house; I have something to say to dad first!”
Mike grinned and smacked her playfully on her bottom, making her wriggle and pout sexily at him.
“Get the KY ready, baby, maybe you’ll get your birthday present tonight!” she murmured coyly, before winking and ushering him out the door with a last quick peck on the cheek.
“I’ll be right behind you, sweetheart!” she whispered, smiling as he waved and crunched along the gravel drive to his 4X4. Lissa sighed and closed the door, then squared her shoulders, readying herself to once again confront her father about his behaviour.
As she turned to go back to the dining room, her mother stepped out.
“Has he…?” she asked, her face falling when Lissa nodded.
“Once again, mum; he did it again. What the hell’s wrong with him? Why doesn’t he just disown him? Mikey would welcome it. He’s had enough!”
“Lissa…” remonstrated her mother, shocked dismay at the thought of never seeing her son again flashing in her eyes. Lissa hugged her mother tightly, anger at her father overriding everything else.