Father & Son: Book two of the Jensen Family Series (5 page)

“Huh, ok. Looks like I’m in for a good
weekend then.” Paul grinned as he folded the cash and shoved it into the inside
pocket of his jacket.

After an uncomfortably quiet ride home in
Michael’s car, Tessa riding shotgun, the two boys in the back, Paul sat at the
counter in the kitchen while his siblings battled it out over the bathroom. The
kitchen smelt heavenly, Monica had been baking all afternoon and there was a
selection of cakes and pastries spread over the counter. Dropping his suit
jacket on the back of his chair, he leant forward and grabbed a miniature apple
tart, still warm from the oven and shoved a good two thirds of it in his mouth.

“Paul?” Monica addressed her son as she
tidied the kitchen.

“Hmm?” He responded around a mouthful of
apple tart.

“You’re a little late with your rent.” She
turned to wipe the counter closest to him, her face breaking into a smile when she
saw his mouth filled with her baked goods while he reached for another.

Paul caught her eye and gestured for her
to wait a moment. Shoving his hand into his inside jacket pocket, he seized the
cash resting there and went to pull it out, furiously shaking his hand which
had become stuck, clenched as it was around the bank notes. Eventually freeing
his hand, he also put the fairy cake he had in the other hand down on the
counter while he separated the notes, handing a hefty bundle to his mother
before swallowing the apple tart in his mouth and replacing it with fairy cake.

“This is far too much.” Monica counted the
cash in her hand and made to hand back the excess.

Paul shrugged “Treat yourself.” He told
her all whilst swallowing her heavenly cake and surveying the remaining goodies
in front of him.

“These aren’t for you, you know, I’ve been
cooking all day for the day centres open day tomorrow.”

Paul, hand hovering over a delicious
looking Bakewell slice, stopped and looked up at her “Why didn’t you say something
sooner? I wouldn’t have started pigging out.”

Monica laughed “I’m pulling your leg
darling, the open day was last week, this batch is for us.”

“Not funny.” He gruffed but lifted the
Bakewell slice to his mouth as he slid from the stool “Not funny at all.” He
repeated walking out of the kitchen.

Half an hour later after a shower and
subsequent preening, Paul sauntered into the kitchen, five minutes late for
dinner, that evenings burgundy coloured shirt in his hand. Ignoring Michael’s
disapproving scowl, he dropped into his chair next to Matt, “Mum, could you
iron my shirt for me?” he asked.

“Yes, after dinner. Go and get a top from
the ironing pile for now though, it’s not polite to sit at the table with a
bare chest.” She answered.

Sighing dramatically, knowing it would
irritate his father and mumbling “It’s not like you haven’t all seen it
before.” He left the table and grabbed a t-shirt from the clean pile of laundry
yet to be ironed.

“That’s my shirt.” Matt nudged him as he
re-joined his family.

“So?”

“Get one of yours.”

“What’s the point? I’m only wearing it to
eat.”

“You might drop food on it.” Matt whined.

“That’s why I’m wearing yours and not
mine.” Paul flicked his brother’s forehead.

“Enough!” Michael bellowed, already in a
foul mood from Paul’s insolent attitude earlier in the day, the boys’ bickering
had only served to darken his mood considerably.

The brothers’ glanced at each other before
turning their full attention to the meal in front of them, neither daring to
meet their fathers’ gaze although that didn’t stop it from burning into them as
they ate.

With the atmosphere deteriorating the way
it had, the meal was mainly passed in silence with only the occasional short
lived conversation between Tessa and their parents. Paul looked up several
times only to have his gaze met by Michael’s scowl and felt the uncomfortable
pit of fear growing in his stomach resulting in his loss of appetite. As much
as he tried to force himself to eat, he simply couldn’t in the face of the
inevitable confrontation that was sure to take place after dinner.

As Matt tucked into his third round of
dessert, Tessa began the washing up with Paul ferrying the dirty plates from
the table to the sink as Monica started to iron Paul’s shirt. The family had
heaved a collective sigh of relief when Michael left the kitchen immediately
after the meal was finished and Tessa began teasing her brothers’ over the fact
that they would be learning to drive very soon and she had better warn the
whole of London to stay off the roads as God help other road users when her
brothers’ were unleashed behind the wheel of a car.

Michael entered the kitchen to find
insults flying between his children and although they were good natured, they
did nothing to lighten his mood. He watched as his wife ironed a shirt and his
children began to splash each other and make a general mess of his otherwise
pristine kitchen.

“Will you stop that.” He bellowed to
ensuing silence.

“We’re just mucking about.” The words were
out of Paul’s mouth before his brain had fully comprehended the expression on
his fathers’ face.

“That’s all you ever do boy.” Michael
snarled, a part of him glad that it was Paul who had spoken up, giving him the
excuse he needed to tear a strip off the over confident little shit. “The only
reason you are as successful as you are is because you have an excellent
workforce to back you up. You are lazy and insolent. You think the world owes
you a living and you think you can make that living off of my hard work. How
dare you swan back into this family with delusions of grandeur and try and pull
your siblings down to your level. Everything is peaceful when you aren’t here
but within moments of you moving back in, the trouble starts and I have to
contend with your attitude and lack of commitment to the family business. You
need to buck your ideas up my boy; your imperious attitude simply will not be
tolerated.”

Paul lent back against the kitchen counter
and crossed is arms over his considerable chest. It hadn’t escaped his notice
that Tessa had stepped away from him and Matt had made to leave the kitchen but
some ghoulish need to see his brother duke it out with his father had prevented
him from actually leaving. Monica busied her hands by folding and re-folding
his shirt and he realised that she wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to jump
to his defence.

“How my company, sorry,
companies
run are absolutely none of your business.” He began, “The fact that I pay my
way and I am not in any way a financial burden to this family should be the
things that really concern you but no, once again you have to try and pin all
the ills of the world on me. Everything that happens isn’t my fault and neither
do I have an attitude most of the time.” Paul pushed off from the side where he
lent and walked towards Michael. “Have you ever stopped to think that perhaps
you are the one with the attitude?” At his last words, he saw Matt’s jaw drop
shortly before he proceeded to make the cut throat signal with one hand while
gesturing towards the door with the other signalling that they planned to go
out that night and Paul was well on the way to getting grounded.

Red in the face and shaking with rage,
Michael stepped closer to his son, bellowing “What did you just say to me?”

“I said.” Paul stated calmly “That you are
the one with the attitude, not me. You hate the fact that regardless of what
you say to the world about me, people genuinely like me, that’s because I’m a
nice guy Dad, unlike you. You try to pin the blame for absolutely everything on
me and yeah, you know what? I’m not entirely blameless some of the time but I
cannot be held responsible for things that are out of my control. You pointed
the finger at me this morning when you saw we were late, you may have asked us
all the same question but you were looking at me, you made it blatantly obvious
that you thought I had made us late didn’t you?” Paul was slightly stunned that
Michael hadn’t taken a swing at him yet but as he stepped closer he became
fully aware of the reason.

He towered over his father now and not
only was he taller; he was undeniably wider with more muscle bulk than the
older man had ever had. A look crossed Michael’s face that Paul hadn’t seen
before, not fear exactly but he appeared to be a little weary now that Paul had
invaded his space.

 Ignoring his son’s direct question,
Michael stayed on the attack, stepping even closer to the boy, getting in his
face “Explain why you were laying across a desk, not working and your lack of
respect for the dress code.” He spat.

“The girl was pretty and an easy target.
I’d done all my work, I didn’t think taking five minutes out of my day to enjoy
a little banter was a world ending crime and the dress code is bullshit. I
don’t see clients therefore I see no reason to wear a tie and even if I did see
clients, the fact that I was minus a tie wouldn’t reflect on my ability to do
my job.” Paul spat back. “I’m tired of you trying to put me down all the time.
I’m just as good at what I do as Tessa and Matt, perhaps even more so. I bet if
you take a good hard look at the figures, you’ll see that Norm and I have
generated far more profit in the last quarter than you three together so
perhaps you should lay off a bit and actually thank me for keeping the company
afloat.” He challenged.

Michael was astounded that one of his
children would talk to him this way. He clenched his fist, preparing to take a
swing when Paul stepped closer and he looked up into the almost black eyes of
his youngest child. That was when he noticed that he was looking up and had to
ask himself when the boy got so tall. Paul’s anger and frustration was clearly
written on his face and Michael didn’t doubt for a second that he would sorely
love to release his rage and slam his fist into his face.

Swallowing, taking a deep, calming breath,
Michael took a slight step back, knowing he wouldn’t win this fight. The boy
had parried his every move with skill and had called him out on his dubious
attempts to lay the blame at his feet. He silently commended Paul on his
courage but also knew the boy only showed his backbone as they had an audience.
Now was not the time to pursue this, he would let him have this small victory
and come at him from another angle at a later date.

“Don’t get ideas above your station boy.
You are a parasite and a burden, not financially but emotionally you pull this
family in several directions at a time, it is extremely wearing. You need to
think very carefully before you open your mouth to speak in future.”

“Huh, yeah alright, whatever you say Dad.
There’s only one emotion you have for me and we both know what that is.” Paul
answered to his father’s retreating back. He turned away and reached for his
freshly ironed shirt “Thanks Mum.”

He knew Michael wouldn’t physically attack
him unless he knew for certain that he could win which meant he wouldn’t
physically attack him unless he was sure his son was in a weakened position and
then Paul had no doubt his next hospital stay would once again be at his
fathers’ hands. Although he had the physical advantage, he was in no way as
vicious as Michael, he would defend himself but he doubted he would retaliate.
He would have to proceed cautiously now where his father was concerned. Michael
had let him walk away with this victory. When retribution came, it would be
swift and violent.

“Dude! What the fuck! You very nearly got
yourself grounded.” Matt burst out when Michael was no longer in the room.

“Matt, how about giving me a slap on the
back and congratulating me for standing up to the old bastard?” Paul answered
him. The argument had shaken him though he wouldn’t outwardly show it. He
pulled Matt’s t-shirt over his head and replaced it with his favourite shirt,
smoothing it over his body before fastening the buttons.

“We both know how stupid it was to do
that. You are going to have to work for your congratulations.” Matt grinned at
him. “Still have the pulling shirt I see?”

“Yep.”

“The pulling shirt?” Monica asked. She
wasn’t going to mention what had just happened; it had been brewing since Paul
had been home and she was simply glad it was over and no blood had been
spilled.

Paul nodded. “I love this shirt and
apparently so do the ladies.” He had spotted the shirt many months previously
and bought it on a whim. Upon trying it on however, he had discovered that it
was far too big for him but as it had been the last one in the shop, changing
it wasn’t an option. He had cajoled his grandmother into altering it, a job she
did with aplomb. The shirt now looked as though it had been made specifically
for him. It moulded to his body, hugging his form, accentuating his muscled
chest and clinging to his back. He had been touched up so many times while
wearing this shirt that he had lost count.

“I guess you intend getting laid tonight
then?” Matt asked.

Paul nodded “Several times.” He confirmed.

“Paul!” Monica gasped, slapping her hands
over her ears, “A mother does not want to hear such things.” She admonished.

“Sorry Mum.” He laughed before bending to
kiss her cheek.

“Honestly, you boys and your hormones!”