J is for Josie

"If you have to, yes. But please, I'll do all the ordering and so on. OK - er - Josie?"

We were inside the restaurant. I just smiled a 'yes'.

The actual meal, and everything around it, went superbly. Dad knew I'd go for a particular pasta dish, I always did, he ordered a linguini thing for himself. And we had one glass of wine each with the meal. And, that first time, actually being seen and being treated as a female rather than just putting a few of Mum's clothes on like I had done before, it was fun. Actually it was more than fun.

The way the waiters fussed around us, the way they paid particular attention, called me 'madam' and all that, it was just a really satisfying experience. And as we were about to go, as Dad was paying the bill I just took his hand in mine and gave it a small squeeze and whispered 'Thanks.'

It was all going so well. Dad was going to reply but we were interrupted.

"Hello Mark. Hello there - er - Jo, isn't it? Good to see you. I didn't know you came here?"

Dad looked horrified. As well he might. I knew this man. I'd seen him a couple of times, walking out of the office with Dad at the end of the day when Mum had driven us to pick him up, when his car had been in for repair or testing or something. This was Mr Franks. Dad's boss.

"OH - er - hello Neil. We were just leaving. Er - no, we've not been here before but it's good."

He was making a little sense, coping quite well in the situation. I don't think Mr Franks noticed.