**Diary Entry**
Bloody dull, she never knows how to enjoy herself.
“Listen, Arthur Wilkins, you still set on building that lavender housing estate?”
“You know I am, Nigel Thompson,” I sighed. “Its the dream. My firms got the means, the experience. Ill make it a landmarktour busesll stop just to gawp. Just get me that land. Fancy me sorting your lad, Paul, a flat there while were at it?”
“You trying to land me a bribery charge? Get me booted from council? I can buy Paul a flat myselfhell, a whole bleeding cottage. What I need is a wife for him.”
“Here we go again. My Emilys got a bloke. And lets be honest, your Pauls a layabout and a womaniser. Dropped out of uni despite you pulling strings to get him in. No offence, but my girl wouldnt take him if you paid her. How dyou expect me to march her down the aisle? Drag her by the hair?”
“If it comes to that, you will. That plots prime real estate”
Arthur and I go way backclimbed the ladder side by side. A councilman and a developer, a match made in profit. Wed pulled off decent projects beforerefurbished old districts, built new ones. Well, Arthurs firm did the work; I just smoothed things over. Contracts, tenders, suppliersall nicely arranged. This new estate? Money for old rope if we played it right.
The idea was sounda gated community of flats, a pocket park, underground parking. Shops on the ground floor, all the conveniences. Peopled flock to it. Rent the units to our own lot, skim a quiet percentage. Steady income for life, enough for the kids. Problem was, the kids needed binding.
Our families mingled, of course. Wives on coffee terms, but the children? My Emily was finishing unilandscape design, sharp as a tack. Wanted her own firm, help with my projects. Nigels boy? A headache. Spent his days clubbing, his nights God knows where. Nigel was never home, just threw money at the lad like itd make up for absence. Marry him off to Emily, maybe hed settle.
Doubt it. After that talk, I found Paul grinning like the cat that got the cream.
“Dad, lads and I are off to Manchester tomorrow. Big music festival. Radios putting it oneveryonell be there.”
“Everyone? Your trust-fund mates? Leeching off their parents, useless as a chocolate teapot. Whenre you getting a job? Emilys starting her own firm”
“With your money. Fund me, Ill start something too.”
“A pub? Youd run it into the ground in a fortnight. Stick with Emily. Clever girl, easy on the eye. Settle down, stop being a drain.”
“Shes got a bloke. And shes bloody dullnever knows how to enjoy herself.”
“Steal him off her. Take her outyour fancy cafés, your parties. Show her the good life. Might loosen her up. Need me to spell it out?”
Around the same time, I spoke to Emily.
“So, love, whats next for you?”
“Meaning? You promised to back my design firm. Ill pay you back once its running.”
“Keep your money. What about your personal life? Marriage on the cards?”
“Kicking me out?” She laughed. “Told Mum alreadyIm seeing Liam. Not thinking about weddings yet. Business first.”
“Listen,” I held her gaze, “youre not just stepping into businessyoure entering a world where stability matters. Married types get taken seriously. And these marriages theyre strategic.”
“Not this again. Paul? Youd have better luck civilising a fox. Drop it, Dad, or well row.”
Emily knew why I pushed it. Nigel wanted the match. Without his say-so, my estate wouldnt get approval. And I needed it. Overheard Mum and me on the patio last weekdidnt see her in the dark.
“Why dyou keep at her about Paul?” Mum hissed. “Want a wastrel for a son-in-law? Imagine her life with him!”
“I can imagine. Better than poverty.”
“Poverty? Weve got an Essex cottage. Could sell the London flat tomorrow.”
“And if weve got nowhere to return to? The firms hanging by a thread, love. Nigel knows. Thats why hes pressing.”
Mum fell quiet. Then, softly:
“We didnt always have this. Remember that bedsit in Croydon? One window, shared loo. We laughed about having two fridges in the kitchen”
A twig snapped. Emilyd heard.
Liam didnt take it well.
“So youll save your dads firm by shackling yourself to that peacock? Marry whoever you wantjust not him. Christ, youd run out of conversation by dessert.”
“You dont get it. The firms his life. This estate? His dream. Calls it Lavender Courtwants the façade that shade, plants in the gardens. Imagine it in spring.”
“And youll trade your future for petals? Would he even want that? My folks live in a council flat in Birmingham. No estates, no dramas. Theyre happy.”
Paul started hovering. Cafés, gigs. Emily humoured himmaybe shed misjudged him. He dressed well, knew his music, had a vinyl collection. Polite, attentive
Then it camethe proposal. She came home near decided, called us in.
“Paul proposed tonight.”
Silence. Then:
“Whatd you say?” I asked.
“Nothing yet. But Im leaning towards yes.”
“You love him?”
“Dunno. Grass widens where its trod, right?”
I stood, walked to the window. Didnt turn.
“Liam came to the office yesterday. Told me why youd say yes. Said selling your daughters foul play. That hed never shake my hand again.”
Emily froze. Mum covered her face.
“What now?”
I turned at last. Breathed outrelief, maybe.
“Nothing. Told Nigel Im dropping the estate. Other projectsll come. Stick with Liam, love. Hes a good one.”
**Lesson:** Dreams shouldnt cost your soulor your childs.
