Julia Williams - The Perfect Escape - Romantic short stories to relax with

‘Don’t you like it?’ said Claire, but her heart was sinking. Her parents looked so out of place here. They seemed to physically shrink as they walked through the door. And part of Claire was ashamed to admit it, but she almost wished they hadn’t come.

‘Well, I suppose it’s all right for you London folk,’ said her father in a disapproving manner, ‘but it’s a bit too fancy for the likes of us.’

Claire sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy. Claire had worked hard to divorce her London life from her home life – the two were so different – but her parents had, not unnaturally, insisted on meeting Barry before the wedding. She’d have been cowardly happy to do the introductions on the day, even though she knew she was being unfair. So they were all booked into a posh new restaurant that had opened up by London Bridge. She had a feeling it was going to be a disaster.

‘Here, let me show you to your room,’ she said, and took them through to the far side of the enormous lounge, where a cunningly hidden atrium gave way to a spiral staircase which led to the next floor.

‘I thought you said you lived in a flat,’ said her mother. ‘You could fit three of our house in here.’

‘Well it’s a big flat,’ said Claire. ‘But we like it. We’d better get on. Our table’s booked for seven.’

*

A couple of hours later, Claire made her way into the plush surroundings of the Chimera Restaurant. She had just about got used to dining in these sorts of places now, but even she thought it was pretentious beyond belief. The entrance hall was adorned with a huge picture of a monster with a lion’s head – the owners of the restaurant were apparently artists, and fancied themselves mythologists, so the place was decorated with naked nymphs being chased by Dionysus and the like. A lot of the pictures were rather rude, and Claire could see her mother was shocked.

The waiter showed them to their table, where Barry’s parents, Moira and Stuart, were waiting to greet them. There was no sign of Barry. Damn, he had said he had a meeting, but promised Claire he wouldn’t be late. Claire rang his mobile, but it was switched off, so she sent him a text, and hoped he’d get there soon.

Greetings exchanged, everyone sat down to an awkward silence. Claire never knew what to say to her prospective in-laws at the best of times, but here without Barry, she felt completely stuck. Particularly as Dad humiliated her by asking for a pint of bitter, and Mum a glass of sherry, just like they were at home in the British Legion Club.

When offered lager as an alternative, Dad looked as if it were poison, and in the end settled for a glass of red wine. Mum plumped for the Chardonnay Moira was having.

‘Very Bridget Jones,’ Moira said smiling gaily.

‘Bridget who?’ asked Mum, puzzled, and Claire groaned inwardly at another demonstration of her parents’ lack of sophistication. She was about to text Barry again, when he bowled rather drunkenly across the long and echoing restaurant floor.

‘Sorry I’m late, everyone, unavoidably detained,’ he swayed over and kissed Claire full on the mouth. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, but couldn’t help the prickles of desire that made her want to kiss him back – hard. But they were coupled with, well, embarrassment. Her parents didn’t go in much for physical demonstrations of affection, and her mother was doing little to hide her disgust.

The evening was an utter failure. Dad refused to try any of the food – ‘foreign muck’ he called it, though most of it was English, while Mum was scandalised that they could charge so much for a basic meal like sausage and mash. Moira, meanwhile (whom Claire suspected was really nouveau riche; she seemed to try so hard to show off her superior social skills) was throwing into the conversation tidbits about visiting the Tate Modern and going to the Globe, which left Claire’s parents completely cold.

It was with huge relief that the meal finally ended, and they were all able to pile into a cab to get home. But even there, the torture wasn’t over. Barry cuddled up to Claire, and insisted on stroking her leg, which would have been nice at any other time, but was excruciating when she was squashed up next to her dad. Barry was also extremely drunk by now, and kept repeating over and over, ‘You know I’m a lucky man, Norman, Jean. Your daughter ish beautiful lady, my beautiful lady.’

‘You won’t be saying that when we’re married,’ Claire tried to make a joke of it.

‘Course I will, come on gissa kiss.’ Claire managed to dive out of his way, and he ended up with his face in her lap. A sensation that she wouldn’t have found unpleasant at any other time, but at this precise moment, was utterly mortifying.

‘Ah, here we are,’ she said with a false smile, and the taxi drew up outside their apartments. She and Dad had to virtually manhandle Barry up the stairs. By this time he had started to sing rather rude songs, and Claire was sweating as she finally got to the front door of the apartment.

‘Shh,’ she said to him, as he started up again about various parts of her anatomy.

‘Why?’ he said. ‘I jush want the world to know that you’re beautiful. All of you’s beautiful, and you’re the best shag I’ve ever had.’

‘Barry!’ Claire could have died. ‘Bed right now!’

‘What have I done wrong?’ Barry looked like a hurt little boy, and part of her wanted to burst out laughing, but the other part of her was furious. How could he show her up like this?

She pushed and cajoled him into their room, while her parents watched in silent horror.

Having got him on the bed, she made a quick exit. She knew from experience, he would be asleep by the time she got back. And she also knew her parents were waiting to read her the riot act.

‘Would you like a coffee?’ she asked, hoping to avoid the issue. No such luck.

‘Claire, sit down,’ said Dad. ‘Your mum and I want to talk to you.’

‘About …?’ Claire had a feeling she knew where this was heading.

‘Barry,’ said Mum firmly. ‘Are you sure he’s right for you?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Claire defiantly, although actually thinking, at this moment after he’s embarrassed me so spectacularly, no, I can’t say I do.

‘But love,’ pleaded Dad, ‘think about it. Look at this place – this just isn’t us. And to be honest, it doesn’t really seem like you. And your Barry, well he might be a nice enough lad the rest of the time, but I’m not too impressed by what I’ve seen tonight.’

‘Tonight he’d had a bit too much to drink,’ said Claire. ‘But I love him, really I do. And he loves me. I’m sorry you haven’t seen the best of him tonight, but I am going to marry him. I just want you to be happy for me.’

Claire’s parents looked at each other and sighed.

‘Well, we only want the best for you, love,’ said Dad. ‘But if that’s what you want …’

‘It’s what I want,’ said Claire. ‘Now I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I’d better get to bed.’

*

‘What is it with people trying to interfere in my life?’ Claire moaned at Mel the next day. ‘First it’s you telling me not to marry Barry, and now it’s my parents asking me if I’m sure I’m doing the right thing. I’ve a good mind to run away to Gretna Green and do it behind everyone’s back.’

‘Oh come on,’ said Mel . ‘They only want what’s best for you. And by all accounts it didn’t sound like he behaved himself all that well.’

‘No he didn’t, but Jeez – I wish everyone would get off our backs. We’re getting married and that’s that.’

But she had to admit, she was beginning to have slight doubts herself now. Barry had behaved badly the previous evening, and though he had been attempting to make up all morning, sending her flirty text messages and emails as well as the biggest bunch of flowers she had ever seen, she did feel uneasy. Maybe she was making a mistake. Would Steve have embarrassed her like that in front of her parents? She didn’t think so. Steve would have instinctively known how to act around them, while it never occurred to Barry that they might be shocked by his behaviour. But then, as her dad would say, Steve was one of us …