Free Welcome to the Real World by Carole Matthews Page A

your father.' Which, I guess, answers my question.

    'Dad?'

    There's a sigh. 'We have him here. At the surgery.'

    'Is he okay?' And, of course, he wouldn't be at the doctor's surgery if he was perfectly all right.

    'No,' Doctor Parry says. 'He's not okay, Fern. Can you come down here right away?'

    I risk a glance over at Evan David again. He's still doing a manly glower. 'I...er...' This might be a very good time for me to make a sharp exit. 'I'll come right away.'

    Grabbing my handbag, hanging up and dashing towards the door all in one movement, I tell Evan David over my shoulder, 'I have to go.'

    His mouth drops open slightly, but I have no time to worry about his reaction to my sudden departure. This is an emergency and he'll have to live with it. My dad is one of the most important people in my life, and if he needs me, I'll be there. Evan David can stuff his poxy job.

    'Wait!' he shouts after me. 'Don't go like this. Tell me what's wrong.'

    I stop momentarily in my dramatic exit. 'My dad's ill,' I say. 'Terribly ill.'

    And I hope deep in my heart that this isn't true.

Sixteen

    H alf an hour later, I burst into the packed waiting room at the doctor's surgery. My dad is sitting on one of the plastic chairs, looking the picture of rude health. All the images I had of him with an oxygen mask on his face or possibly a limb missing, evaporate into the air.
    He smiles when he sees me. 'Fuck off!'

    There's an audible gasp in the waiting room. Mothers clamp their hands over their children's ears. Two women with blue rinses tut loudly. A toddler who is knocking seven bells out of a brightly-coloured play centre stops mid-hammer.

    'We won't have that, Mr Kendal,' the receptionist shouts. 'I've told you.'

    'Arse. Bum. Widdle,' my dad responds.

    I edge in, hardly daring to admit that this flushed-faced, foaming man is my relative. If the woman behind the appointments desk hadn't already clocked me, I might have turned and run. I note that the receptionist sags with relief. 'I'll buzz through and tell Doctor you're here, Ms Kendal.'

    'Dad?'

    'You're a bagful of shite,' he tells me cheerfully.

    'What?' I feel myself recoil. 'I'm your daughter. What's going on? Why are you saying that?'

    He turns to the woman on the chair nearest to him. She's trying to put as much distance between them as possible, edging into the corner. 'Do you like big willies?' he asks her.

    There's another gasp. The poor woman is about to pass out. She is an ageing spinster and looks, quite possibly, as if she's never seen a willy in her life, let alone a big one.

    'We can't have this, Mr Kendal,' the receptionist says sharply. 'Apologise at once.'

    'Poo. Fart.' My dad pauses while he chooses his next word. 'Testicles.'

    'What's going on?' I spread my hands. 'What on earth is going on?'

    Not a moment too soon, Doctor Parry opens his door, ushering out an elderly lady with a bandaged hand. 'Ah, Ms Kendal,' he says. 'Come straight in. And you.' He gestures towards my dad, who stands up and makes a very lewd gesture involving his hips to his audience in the waiting room.

    Grabbing him by the arm, I snatch him into the doctor's office. Dad sits down on one of the chairs and grins happily.

    'Have you lost your mind?' I shout.

    For once he is silent. I flop in the chair next to him while our GP runs a hand through his hair in a weary manner.

    I don't know whether to address the doctor or my dad. I try both, but reserve my fierce look for my deranged parent. 'Do you want to give us an explanation for this?'

    My dad folds his arms.

    Doctor Parry huffs. 'Your father insists he has Tourette's syndrome,' he tells me.

    I start to laugh.

    'Fuck off,' my dad says again.

    'And you shut up,' I tell him.

    'He says he caught it at the King's Head.'

    'You can't catch Tourette's syndrome.' At least I don't think you can. I look to Doctor Parry for confirmation. 'Can you?'

    'No,' he assures me.

    'Bog off.'

    I think Doctor Parry is being patient