“Bloody miserable, she isdoesnt know how to enjoy life.”
“Listen, Archibald, old chapfancy building that lavender residential estate of yours?”
“You know full well, Nigel, its my dream. My firms got the means and the experience. Ill make it the talk of Manchestertour busesll stop by just to gawk. Just get me that land, eh? Ill even sort your boy, Oliver, a flat there if you like.”
“So I can be accused of bribery and booted out of the council? I can buy Oliver a flat myselfa whole bloody cottage, if it comes to it. What I need is to get him a wife.”
“Oh, here we go again! My Emilys already got a boyfriend. And lets be honest, your Olivers a layabout and a flirt. Dropped out of uni, didnt he? And that was after you practically bribed his way in. Sorry, but my daughter wouldnt take him if you paid her. How dyou expect me to drag her down the aisle? Hog-tied?”
“If thats what it takes. Plenty of others eyeing that land, you know”
Archibald and Nigel went way back, climbing the career ladder side by side. A councilman and a property developera match made in bureaucratic heaven. Together, theyd pulled off a string of successful projects: revitalised neighbourhoods, restored heritage buildings.
Well, technically, Archibalds firm did the work. Nigel, as they say in the council, *facilitated*. Helped secure contracts, win tenders, find the right suppliers. And now, he knew this new estate of Archibalds could line their pockets nicely.
The idea was solida gated community of high-rises with a park, underground parking, shops on the ground floor. Peopled flock to iteverything right on their doorstep. Profit guaranteed. Rent the shops to *their* people, skim a quiet percentage. No outsiders. Steady income for life, enough for the kids too. Assuming the kids could be persuaded to cooperate.
Naturally, the families mingled. The wives were practically best friends, but the children? Less so. Archibalds daughter, Emily, was finishing uni this yearlandscape design. Wanted to start her own firm, even help her dad with his projects.
Nigels son, Oliver, was another story. No interests beyond partying. Nigel was always at the council, dawn till dusk, leaving Oliver to his own devices. Money was no objectguilt payments for paternal neglect. Marry him off to Emily, maybe hed settle down.
Unlikely. After that chat with Archibald, Nigel found Oliver in high spirits at home.
“Dad! Lads and I are off to London tomorrowbig music festival. Youth Radios throwing it. Everyones going.”
“Whos everyone? Your trust-fund brigade? Leeching off your parents, the lot of you. Whenre you getting a job? Emilys setting up her own design firm”
“With *your* money, not hers. Fund me, and Ill start something too.”
“A pub? Youd run it into the ground in a fortnight. Stick with Emilyshes sharp, presentable. Get married, eh? Cant spoon-feed you forever.”
“Shes got a bloke. And shes bloody miserabledoesnt know how to enjoy life.”
“Steal him off her. Ill help. Take her to cafés, your little partiesIll fund it. Show her the good life, maybe shell lighten up. Do I have to spell it out?”
Around the same time, Archibald was talking to Emily.
“Emily, lovewhatre your plans?”
“How dyou mean? You promised to front me the cash for the firm. Ill pay you back once its running.”
“Keep the money. But what about your personal life? Marriage on the cards?”
“Kicking me out?” She grinned. “Told Mum alreadyIve got a boyfriend, Daniel. Not thinking about weddings yet. Need to get the business sorted first.”
“Thing is,” Archibald studied her, “youre not just entering businessyoure stepping into a world where family men get taken seriously. Stability, no drama. And you dont just marry anyone.”
“Not this again. Oliver? Youd have better luck domesticating a peacock. Lets drop it, yeah? Before we row.”
Emily knew why her dad kept bringing it up. Nigel was pushing for the match. Without his say-so, Archibald wouldnt get planning permission for the estate. And he *needed* it. Shed overheard her parents talking at the cottage last weekvoices low in the dark.
“Whyre you hounding Emily about marriage?” Her mum hissed. “Want a wastrel for a son-in-law? Imagine her stuck with him!”
“I *can* imagine. Better than her scraping by in poverty.”
“Poverty? Weve got a cottage in the Cotswolds! We could sell the city flat tomorrow.”
“And if weve got *nowhere* to go? The firms on thin ice without this project. Nigel knows itthats why hes twisting my arm.”
Her mum fell silent. Then, quieter:
“We didnt always have this, Archibald. Remember that one-room flat in Salford? The shared kitchen with two fridges? We *laughed* about it”
A twig snapped under Emilys foot. The conversation died.
Daniel took the news badly.
“So whatsave your dads firm by ruining your life? Im not saying pick me, but *Oliver*? Youd run out of things to say by breakfast.”
“You dont get it. The firms everything to him. This estatehe wants to call it *Lavender Heights*. Plant lilacs everywhere. Imagine it in spring!”
“And youd trade your future for *flowers*? Wouldnt he be ashamed? My parents live in a council flat in Hackney. No estates, no lilacs. And theyre *happy*.”
Oliver started dropping bycafés, concerts. Emily played along, giving him a chance. Maybe shed misjudged him? He wasnt *completely* hopeless. Dressed well, knew his vinyl, doted on her
Then, inevitably, he proposed. She said shed think it over, but by evening, her mind was made up. She called her parents into the sitting room.
“Oliver proposed today.”
Silence. Then her dad:
“Whatd you say?”
“Nothing yet. But I think Ill say yes.”
“Do you love him?”
“Dunno. Love grows where its planted, right?”
Her dad stood, walked to the window. Without turning:
“Daniel came to see me yesterday. Told me why youd say yes. Said selling your own daughters beneath you. That hell never shake my hand again.”
Emily froze. Her mum covered her face. “What now?”
Her dad turned. Smiled, almost relieved.
“Nothing. I told Nigel the deals off. Plenty of other projects. And you, lovehold onto Daniel. Lads got spine.”
