The Artist's History (18+) FREE to Read CHICK LIT #WATTYS2018 LONGLIST

Tell Simon Cowell He Needs to Answer to Me (15+)

2006

"So, there's this audition for the X-factor. This Saturday at the SECC. Can you take me?"

Richie held the phone to his chest, ignoring the driver in the car parallel to him who glared. Aye big man, he muttered. I know it's illegal, but this is my daughter. He dropped the phone to his lap and pressed the speaker button.

"Ash, I can't," he said. "I'm going away for the weekend."

The words dangled, hanging in the space between his mouth and the phone. Ashley was at that tricky age—he might argue she'd never been anything else—and starting off his weekend with his daughter throwing one of her epic fits was just what he didn't need.

"Where?" The voice had changed. She hadn't sounded wheedling when she asked for the lift; more like someone who had the automatic right to a chauffeur on demand. Now, though, it slid into 'how dare you have an outside life' territory.

"Girona. It's this wee place in Spain. I'm sorry, love. Why can't your ma do it?"

"Phil the prick," she said. A proper parent would tell her off for that. You shouldn't refer to your mum's partner as a prick. But he was. And as he was the man his wife had left him for, Richie called him far worse.

"Stupid fucking arsehole's still in hospital. She says she's got to spend Saturday keeping him company."

"Nothing minor, I hope?" Thankfully, he managed not to say it, pulling Ashley up instead for her language. She said it was all his fault (when wasn't it?). If he'd not been a stingy old git and sent her to a private school, she wouldn't speak like a gutter rat.

"What if I get Cammie to do it," he said, crossing the fingers of his right hand, resting on the steering wheel.

Cammie was Richie's secret weapon. The son of Richie's head foreman, he worked off and on for Richie's building firm. At 25, he was eight years older than Ashley, who was unspeakably rude to him. A sign she liked him, Richie eventually worked out. If Richie promised him a few weeks' work next month, he'd be happy to ferry Ashley wherever she wanted to go.

His wee lassie was yet to work out women didn't do it for Cammie. Maybe it was wrong of Richie to let her carry on with her adolescent fantasies, but if anyone else had the fool-proof guide to bringing up girls, he'd yet to meet them.

"Okay then," she said, making it sound as if she was doing her dad a favour. She hadn't been able to disguise the delight in her voice. He imagined her re-thinking everything she'd planned to wear to the audition. Ach, he must tell her the truth at some point.

"Good luck," he said. "You willnae need it, though. And tell that arsehole Simon Cowell if he doesn't pick you, he'll have to answer to me."

"Daaaad." The voice was fond now. Hopefully, the experience wouldn't be too bruising. Ashley was an amazing singer, but good enough for TV? Parental bias aside, Richie wasn't sure. And she didn't have a sob story behind her, unless she played on the trauma of having her ma and pa split up when she was three.

"Text me with how you get on," he added. Hang the cost.

He was still caught in the traffic on Kingston Bridge inching into the city centre, so he could risk another call. Cammie agreed to the favour, adding a little bargaining of his own in. Three weeks' work, not two—that was the deal.

Youngsters! Wanted it all handed to them on a plate! You knew you were getting old when you started saying things like that to yourself.

He was heading for the building site in the south east of the city where his firm was working for Glasgow Housing Association. It was one of the biggest contracts he'd ever landed, and the thought of leaving it for the weekend made him twitch.

"Aye, aye all work and no play, Richie." His mother, moaning yet again about not having a daughter-in-law to fuss over. She'd loathed his first wife (with just cause), but like all the women in her family soppy sentimentality about love bubbled below the surface all the time.

The match dot com membership had been her idea. "Son, I've been reading about this thing. Online dating. Why don't you sign up?"

She stood over him while he did it too. Who'd ever heard of that? A fifty-something mother who knew more about modern life than her thirty-something son and bullied him into it? He tried it to please her, but it hadn't worked out. Too many women he didn't feel attracted to, baggage and neediness oozing out of them. He'd also needed to cancel too many dates.

The website, to his annoyance, automatically renewed his membership when he didn't cancel it at the end of the six months. At that point, Lillian sent him a message.

Lillian was like no other woman he'd ever met. The girls he'd grown up with had all been like Aileen, his first wife. Glasgow lassies were glamourous. They loved hair extensions, fake tans and nails and getting dressed up at the weekend. They danced, joked and laughed, and entered the business of bagging a man with ferociousness.

Just as Aileen had.

It didn't sound good to tell someone your marriage ended because you'd had too many affairs. But he and Aileen should never have married. Even fifteen years ago, no-one got hitched at nineteen. Somehow, she'd managed to persuade him marriage was the logical step after four years together.

Aileen and he had never lived together beforehand. Their relationship quickly turned claustrophobic. She needed to talk all the time. All through his favourite TV programmes and while he was eating. She wanted to know where he was going every time he went out. And she hated him going out with his pals. None of them could come around to the house either, as Aileen made the visits too uncomfortable.

His best friend excused him. "Aye, well, you never got a chance to sow your wild oats. Ye had to dae it while you were with her."

Aileen might have left him for someone else. But he'd been seeing other women all through their marriage, driven to find someone who didn't drive him crazy. Phil was Aileen's first affair as far as he knew. His ego had found it hard to handle her being the one who walked away in the end.

But the relief of it! And he'd stayed faithful in every relationship he'd had since. Not that they stacked up to much.

Risking penalty points and a fine again, he fired off a quick text message. Then baulked at its risqué tone. Lillian wasn't his usual point of reference. She'd agreed to go away with him, but she might be expecting separate beds.

Another message. And it was worth making it clear.

Richie hadn't slept with someone for six months. His body ached for contact and touch. He'd been divorced for a long time and those years hadn't been lean. Two years ago, he's ended up in bed with a glorious woman. He'd grown used to female self-consciousness. "Ooh, I'm too fat! Don't look at my tummy!"

This lady hadn't given a stuff. She'd peeled off her clothes joyously and jumped on top of his cock flatteringly fast. "Love a big, long hard one!" she said and then belted out instructions. "Ma tits, ma tits! Aye, keep rubbing them and move slowly with your dick. Move it like you're stroking me. Oh... gooooooood."

He'd held back at first, worried that a man ought to know all this stuff instinctively. After a while, it was awfy relaxing being told what to do every step of the way. She came first. He came seconds after, exploding into the condom.

Sadly, Amanda wasn't looking for anything else. She told him he'd been fabulous then blew him a kiss goodbye. When he tried to phone her, the number was unavailable.

And now this. A weekend away with someone new and exciting. Fashion meant little to Richie, but listening to Lillian talk about her business drew him in. He didn't know any other women who'd set up their own business.

She'd kept him back, though. The most they'd done on their dates was a snog, enticing enough to get him hard every morning since. Lillian had amazing legs too. Fantasising about what they'd look like naked and wrapped around his waist or stacked against his shoulders made him shuffle in his seat now.

Two days to go till their trip. Would she be terribly offended if he pushed her onto that bed in their hotel room as soon as they unlocked the door?