Free Lessons for a Sunday Father by Claire Calman Page B

dangerous—and the world loves you. But, soon as you suss someone’s seen you or heard you—usually I get a small clue at home ‘cause they bang on the door and tell me to shut up and I’m sensitive about subtle signals like that—well you lose it and there you are, some sad old prick singing flat in a bathroom and feeling like a balloon with all the air gone out of it. It’s weird, half the stuff I miss most is things like that, Natty banging on the bathroom door, I mean, shouting, “Oi, Dad, leave it out! I can’t hear my CD!”
    Anyway. So we get there and I park and we go in. Well, I’ve been in the business sixteen years but you don’t need to be an expert to see what the problem is. It’s a nice bit of workmanship actually. He’s coming along, is Gary. Shame he’s got less common sense than a hula-hoop. The fit’s nice, yes; it’s a neat job, yes; nice bit of beading, but—it’s plain glass. Not normally what you want in a bathroom door, unless you’re a bit of a perve.
    “Ah,” I say.
    “You may well say ‘ah,'” she says. “But can you sort it out? The other one’s downstairs.”
    Downstairs, the glass panel in the back door is frosted. It’s not a bad pattern, a bit unusual, sort of leaves and twiddly bits. It’s called “Serenade,” no idea why, probably thought it was better than “Leaves and Twiddly Bits.”
    “Marvellous view of the garden, hmm?” she says. You can’t see a thing through it.
    “I take it this is the one you wanted plain then?”
    “Full marks. Have a gold star.”
    Actually, I can see what’s happened. All the doors are the same size in these houses, see? Our clueless lad’s come in, measured one bit of glass, sees it fits the panel in the first door, puts it in, then does the second one without thinking. It’s the kind of mistake anyone could make. If they had soggy spaghetti for brains.
    “Anyone can make a mistake,” I say, “but we can sort that out for you, no problem.”
    “You better. Can you do it now?”
    Thing is, I haven’t got my tools on me. Didn’t see the point without knowing what the problem was. Plus if I’d brought them I could tell she’d have had me there till midnight.
    “Trouble is, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get it out in one piece. I can have a go but I can’t guarantee it and I don’t want to leave you with a draught blowing in on you when you’re—when you’re using the bathroom.” She gives me a look then, a sort of assessing look. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was eyeing me up. “We might have to get new.”
    “Fine. So you can just drive back and get it now.”
    Unfortunately, it must have been a special order because it’s not one of the most popular designs and it’s toughened, so we’ll have to reorder and start again and that’s another two days minimum. She is not happy.
    “But—” Harry says the customer is always right and we rely on repeat business. “One, I’ll do it myself so you can be sure of a good job … And two, I’ll make it half-price. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?”
    She sighs.
    “OK.”
    She tells me to phone her the moment it comes in and I say I will and then when I’m at the door to go, she suddenly looks me right in the eye and gives me this dead sexy smile.
    “Thanks. I’ll see you soon then.” Her eyes are sparkling and she pushes a strand of hair back from her face.
    “Yes.” I feel like I’m going red. Get a grip, man, for God’s sake. “Very soon. Two days. Three at the outside.”
    I can feel her eyes on me as I walk back down the path. I don’t know. One minute she’s ready to tear me limb from limb and leave me out for the vultures, the next she’s flashing me a come-to-bed smile and straightening her shoulders so her tits stick out more.
    And, I have to admit it, I was intrigued. It’s not that I never get offers. In our line of work, we’ve all had bored housewives coming on to us and, OK, I’ve been pretty tempted once or