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“Sort the noise out so I can sleep and we won’t have any other issues!” I grunt, throwing my hands in the air and storming back into my apartment.
“Goodnight, Natasha,” he calls after me, and honestly, I don’t hate the way that sounds.
Chapter Four
Natasha
Obediently, I follow Mam through the hallway of my childhood home to the dining room. It’s hard to miss the large portrait held in a gilded frame. It’s a photo of me standing between my proud parents at my university graduation or as Dad refers to it: a constant reminder of how much of a disappointment I am.
My parents are both solicitors at our family firm, Borthwick Law. My granddad, the original Borthwick, started the business and my dad started working there right out of secondary school. Throughout my life, it was well known that his intention was for me to follow in his footsteps, but all myfive years studying law did was confirm that I absolutely did not want to work in that field.
I’m not cut out for an office.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, walking into the dining room where he sits at the head of the table, reading a broadsheet newspaper.
“Darling.” He offers me his cheek without looking up.
“How are you?” I press a kiss to his ageing skin before taking a seat at the formal place setting to his right. Dad is always impeccably smart, clean shaven and wears a freshly ironed shirt and trousers no matter where he is or what his plans are.
“Oh, you know, just another day of not having an heir to the firm,” he says as if he’s joking, but it’s been said enough times that I know he’s serious. This time I doubt it took him two minutes to get his jibe in. “I saw the result the other night, it was on the news. They were talking about you.” My heart sinks to my toes. I learned a long time ago not to read articles about myself and to fast forward through the highlights when they cover Wearside Women. My dad, on the other hand, has not.
“Oh right… We’re going through a rough patch as a team at the moment but with a little hard work, I’m sure we’ll pick it up again.”
“Do you not think it’s about time you give up the hobby and do something meaningful with your life?” he asks, placing the paper down in front of him. “You could be out there making a difference to people’s lives.”
Here we go.
“I love my job, Dad.” Even I can tell I sound less than convincing.
“Sweetheart, the best thing happened at work this week,” Mam says, saving me from the conversation as she places our plates in front of us.
“Yeah?” I ask, feigning enthusiasm. If Dad tries to shame me into joining the family business, Mam tries to convince me that working in law is the best thing in the world. She amps up her job satisfaction at every opportunity to try and get me to see the error of my ways.
“A woman came in with her son who’s setting up a new business and needed some advice. It’s so satisfying when you get to help people, you know. The look on his face made allthat challenging work worth it.” She clutches the napkin she’s carrying to her heart.
“Sounds great, Mam.”
“It really was.”
She disappears into the kitchen again, returning a moment later with her own plate and takes a seat opposite me on Dad’s other side.
In general, my mood is lower than it has been for weeks, but I don’t think they notice as we eat in our usual silence. When we finish, I excuse myself for a breather by offering to clear the plates and stack the dishwasher.
“Dad isn’t getting any younger,” Mam says when I return to the table a few minutes later. She glances across at Dad who has gone back to his paper, completely uninterested in my company. “And neither am I,” she adds.
“Are you trying to tell me one of you is sick?” Panic surges through me. Is that what tonight is about?
“No, of course not. I’m just saying, we’d like to retire soon, and the firm will be your responsibility. You’ll need to go back to school for a refresher before you take over, of course. It has been a few years since you graduated.”
“I’m not a lawyer, Mam. I don’t want to take over.”
“This is our family legacy, Natasha,” Dad says sternly, slamming his paper down on the table, making me jump. “You’re our only child. It’s up to you to keep it going when we’re gone.”
“But I don’t want to, Dad. I’m sorry.”
“Do you realise how juvenile you sound? You have five, maybe ten years of your footballing career left at the very most. Then what?”
“I don’t know. I have plenty of time to decide what path I take when I’m done playing.”
