I was just popping down stairs to get a bedtime glass of coke when I heard a voice shouting somewhere in the darkened bar. I armed myself with a broom and slowly crept towards the noise. The aggravated voice was coming from the office. As I snuck closer, I realised it was Dad on the phone. I kept quiet and listened to the heated conversation he was having.
“I’ve not been avoiding you” … “You said you didn’t need it back for at least six months!” … “There’s no need for that sort of talk” … “Please mate, I just need a little more time than that” … “No! You don’t need to come down here, okay I’ll sort it…I’ll…”
It sounded like the person who was shouting at him on the other side of the phone hung up. Dad just collapsed into my swivel chair and buried his head mournfully into his hands. I didn’t bother going in to ask who he had been talking to; he would never have told me. Dad has always been secretive, especially when he is up to no good, or is in trouble. God I hope this is nothing that will affect the pub!