Kidnapped.

KIDNAPPED.
We get on well together, me and Linda. Always have done. She often asks
for my opinion.
"How do you like these shoes, Dad?" she'll say. "Do you think they go
with this outfit?"
"Mmmm&;#8230; very smart."
"No&;#8230; really. Do they suit me?"
"Well, they're a practical sort of shoe," I say, "but very nice all the
same."
Linda sighs.
"High heels are out now, Dad. This sort are in. Do they go with this
dress?"
"They go very well considering they're flat," I say, "but you look
better with a bit of extra height."
Next day she goes and changes them. Comes back with two-inch heels.
That's what I like about Linda - she takes notice.

We only ever had the one child. What with Mother's problem and my back
that was quite a miracle in itself.
She was like a little princess - golden curls, lovely little dresses.
Chosen twice for Mary in the School Nativity. People used to say she
was a credit to us - and she was.
She had a lovely voice. In the choir at Grammar School. Got eight "O"s
and three "A" levels. The English teacher took a real shine to her -
invited her home and took her to the ballet. Said she had real
potential and seemed quite disappointed when she decided to train as a
teacher.
But like Mother and I said: It's a secure job and well paid - not
something to turn your nose up at.
And in the end she did well. What's wrong with teaching infants,
anyway?

We were glad when she was accepted by the local college. Much more
convenient - far less travelling.
And it was just about then that Mother's arthritis started playing up,
so if Linda hadn't been able to come home every night I don't know what
we'd have done.
But it didn't interfere with her college work. She did very well. Got
'A-' on her final teaching practice and was offered a job almost
immediately.

There WAS a bit of a disagreement about that, because I'd been
stationed at Portsmouth during my National Service - Hilsea Barracks -
and I knew she wouldn't like it. It's rough. In parts, really
rough.
Then this other job came up just around the corner at St. Wilfrid's and
in the end she saw sense and applied for that. Got it, too. It was a
case of 'local girl makes good'.
People said: You should be very proud of her, Arthur - and I
was.

It wasn't long after that that Mother's health broke down. It really
upset her that she couldn't look after us both in the way that she
wanted.
I said to Linda: She's devoted herself to this family, and this is
where it's ended up. She's like an invalid. It's up to us now.
In fact, she was an invalid. Apart from the box and the bingo she had
no pleasure at all.

Linda was a treasure. Took her out in the new car. Ran her down to
bingo on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.
Even came on holiday with us - although she could have gone anywhere.
Some of the women at work wanted her to go to Portugal.
Like I said: Grange-over-Sands is a far cry from the Algarve, Linda. We
all had a good laugh about that.

Mother's accident was a terrible blow for both of us. The van driver
said she ran out from behind a parked car.
RAN - I ask you. She could barely walk.
In fact, Linda and I couldn't think what she was doing there - right
in the centre of town at two o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon.
Someone said she was making for the Essoldo for the afternoon session
- they'd seen her there before.
They must have been mistaken. She needed help to get on a bus.
In the end, we decided she was on her way to Boots. She must have come
to the end of her tablets and gone to get another pack.
That was Mother all over - determined to save us trouble.
Unselfish to the end.

It took us months to get over it.
I went to pieces, but Linda rallied round and was absolutely
wonderful. As far as the house was concerned, everything was just as
before.
Washing done; shirts ironed; meals on the table; perfect.
So it was quite a shock when she first told me about Eric. He'd been
appointed to the Junior Department and had taken a fancy to her. They
both liked the same kind of music.
I said to Linda: Linda, you deserve the best. I'm not going to stand
in your way. Your happiness is my greatest wish.
A week later she brought him round. A thin little man with gold-rimmed
glasses. Expert at chess, apparently.

When I first put the idea to him, Eric seemed a bit doubtful. He wasn't
sure about all three of us sharing the same house.
But like I said to him: We wouldn't be sharing the house, Eric. Think
about it - all these rooms and just me rattling around in them. And you
and Linda paying a small fortune for a tiny flat with barely space to
swing a cat.
It doesn't make sense. We could divide this place up between us.
Separate quarters - separate lives. We might not even see each other
for days.
In the end, he came round to the idea.
Linda bought a new set of crockery and I helped them to redecorate the
front bedroom. Then it was wedding bells.
We even ate separately for a month or two.

It didn't take long for the rot to set in.
He persuaded her to have a new kitchen. Then a microwave. Then a midi
hi fi - all that racket. I'd always thought 'Meat loaf' was something
to eat not something to deafen you.
And I liked those old kitchen units. Real quality there - not
chipboard.

Then there was the garden. All that talk about protecting the
environment. Eric never lifted a hoe.
Like I said: To you it's a 'wild garden' - to me it's an embarrassment.
Mother would turn in her grave.
When they were away one weekend I spent two whole days tidying it up.
Not a word of appreciation - just criticism.
Did I realise that nettles were the breeding ground for the Painted
Lady? Was I aware that the wet patch which I had just drained was the
proposed sight of the new bog-garden?
We don't want a bog in the garden, I said. We got rid of the bog out
there years ago.

I thought there was something funny when Eric started coming in late
three times a week.
I said to Linda: Linda, nobody has Management Meetings that often - not
even deputy heads. She couldn't see it.
Turns out he was playing away with the school secretary - divorcee and
member of the local Green party.
When Linda faced him up with it, he said they had a common interest -
not a common problem.
It was time to choose. Was she going to walk into the future with her
intellectual equal or be manipulated by a bitter old man?
All that upset. I think it was that that brought on my asthma
attacks.

He left soon after that. Got a headship in Liverpool and took his own
school secretary with him.
Linda cried for a bit, but then she put in for Special Needs teacher at
St. Wilfrid's and soon got back into the swing.
She has quite a full social life.
Goes to the ballet. Member of the rambling club. Wonderful cook and
housekeeper. Like me, she likes the old-fashioned things.
She comes in after school, makes the meal, and then I wash up whilst
she prepares her schoolwork or does the ironing.
By half-past eight we're sitting down to watch the box together. We
like documentaries and Panorama.

Interesting item on the news last night. All about this father from
Iraq who had abducted his children and taken them abroad to live with
him.
I said to Linda: I'm not sure if you can kidnap your own daughter,
Linda. What do you think?
She was just bringing in my bedtime drink.
"Probably not, Dad," she said. "Probably not."
We get on really well together, me and Linda.