Then the kisses seemed to ... merge

It's finally official: I labour under the threat of redundancy. Cleverly, the company I work for used the smokescreen of the massive, mind-buggering losses announced by a certain Really Big Sounding bank to announce its own, sizeable losses (but not anywhere in the region of those massive banking losses) out into the public domain, causing barely a murmur on the Richter scale of fiscal calamity, but of course several San-Francisco-raizing earthquakes amongst the workforce. We've had most of the post-mortems already, and endless water-cooler discussions (even though we have no water coolers) as to who will be first out of the door.

The reality is we don't really know what exactly is going to happen and we are unlikely to for some time. Our whole business is going to be analysed and steps will be taken to ensure redundancies will be kept to a minimum and only where absolutely there is no alternative. Plus they will be voluntary in the first instance. We shall see.

The first day of Lent passed successfully, in neither that alcohol nor flesh nor fowl passed my lips. Breakfast was a cheese sandwich and a can of red bull purchased from the beguilingly odd man at the petrol station nearest my (current - ha!) place of work. I couldn't be bothered with lunch, just a packet of those baked crisps and a diet coke. Once home, I chiselled some quorn mince out of the freezer, stuck it in a pan with a splash of water until it had de-frosted, then chucked in onion, kidney beans, mushrooms and a sprinkle of chopped chillies, then a jar of sweet chilli cooking sauce. The results were blissful.

Shared my meal with the house's other vegetarian, and as I've now returned to the land where people speak more than cordially to each with my eldest, I gauged it not too risky to broach something that had been simmering at the back of my mind for a few weeks now. So I said to Andrew I'm sorry to bring this up but it's something that's still annoys me and I'd like to talk about it. Andrew pulled his dinner a little closer to him, and asked what.

So in I jumped again: It's about you telling Mr Aldridge that I was violent towards you, I said. Andrew immediately reddened - and not because of the spicy quality of his food, obviously. He mumbled something about not wanting to talk about it. But I persisted. You do realise how much that hurt me, don't you?

Andrew stopped eating and instead started toying, folding kidney beans into the mince with his fork. He gave an almost imperceptible few nods. Silent mode engaged!

Well, I said, feeling it wasn't worth labouring the point. As long as you realise what you did wasn't at all fair, I'll try to put it aside. Fearing silent mode may be on permanent mode, I switched tact and asked how his love life was going.

Andrew semi-jerked, almost as though I'd slapped him. He frowned and asked what I meant, his face now matching his meal for the quality of its red hues. I said, nothing - I just know you're happier when you've that special someone in your life.

Andrew picked out a mushroom and bit it in half. If anything happens, it happens, he said, his cheeks still radiating. I'm not chasing it, I've more important things to think about.

Have you considered going back to Scouts? I suggested. You did jack it in rather abruptly when Kevin appeared on the scene. It was something you always used to enjoy.

Andrew shook his head. I think that door's closed, he said, now I'm [pause] out. I'd prefer to spend as little time amongst people my age as I can until everyone else has learnt to grow up.

I couldn't help but notice the slightly melancholy aspect his voice adopted as he said those words. He finished his meal and imprisoned his bowl within the dishwasher. As he left the kitchen he stopped a foot shy of the door and turned around. He said: Thanks dad. I asked for what, and he said for being my dad. You didn't deserve that $hit I made up about you. I was a $hit to do that.

I told him it was okay, and he went upstairs.

This exchange put me in a good mood. Which lasted about ten minutes until Gabriel came home, walking brazenly into the house, almost thrusting the horseshoe-shaped earring that dangled from his reddened right earlobe straight in my face. Hi dad! He said, very brightly. I said Don't you Hi dad me you cheeky git.

We stood, eye-to-eye (except that to be eye-to-eye with Gabe I'd have to be sitting, and I was) for a few charged moments, then the telepathy thing happened, Gabriel's face turned into that of a ghost and his hand involuntarily rose to his right ear.

$hit, he whispered.

Who, and when? I asked.

Gabe swallowed. Lian's mum, about two hours ago, he said. But it's not my fault! I was bribed!

How, exactly, were you bribed? I asked, disdainfully. Gabriel's face regained its colour. Pretty violently as well; it was surprising his cheeks didn't pop.

Lian, he began. She said if I let her mum do it, she'd let me...

His voice trailed off and I wondered what was coming.

...kiss her.

Oh, the wicked whiley ways of woman-folk. I said, you've been with Lian a couple of months now, surely you've kissed her before now? But Gabriel shook his head. I said, didn't I? he said. We're just friends. Or we were. It's complicated.

So, she did let you kiss her? I said. I didn't want to think my son had been bribed under false pretensions. Judging by the way the sun exploded from behind his eyes, I guessed that wasn't the case. More than once, as it turned out, he said, eager to share his good news. Then the kisses seemed to ... merge.

I told him I was upset he hadn't waited as I had asked, then sent him on his way. Who am I to ruin a blissful moment such as this?

Thought about ringing Lian's mother to complain about her puncturing my little boy, but thought better of it. As Colin will no doubt tell you, I'm crap at ringing woman.