The girls at the corner table

Holed up in a Starbucks in Stuttgart on Saturday, I couldn’t help but notice the group of cute local girls snuggling up happily alongside each other on the sofas in the corner. Giggling, relaxing, hanging out… their frapuccinos turning into a treat that would last the full afternoon.

One of them seemed a little quieter than the others, and I wondered why. Her mobile sat on the table in front of her, and I decided that therein lay the secret.

See, their exams were only weeks away – and her father had insisted that days out with friends weren’t permitted whilst she revised. But he’d headed out for an afternoon with his buddies, so she’d sneaked into the city to join the group.

Only… his plans had changed and he’d returned early – to an empty house. His first text message had enquired as to her whereabouts; his second (for, being a good girl, she’d told him the truth) had told her that he would deal with her when she got home.

Whilst the others gossipped, she sat lonely amidst the crowd – angry at herself for having disobeyed him when she knew he was acting in her best interests, and scared of the painful punishment that would follow on her return home. He’d send her straight to her room, where he’d leave her to wait and contemplate. She’d be crying – at her stupidity, and having let him down – even before his footsteps on the stairs proclaimed the imminence of her punishment. He’d scold, quietly but firmly, his disappointment in her all too plain. And then he’d make her pass him her hairbrush; put her over his knees; punish her harder than she could bear.

He’d hug her close afterwards; remind her that he only punished because he cared; tell her it was dealt with now. And she’d murmur her thanks, relishing the hugs, and would count herself lucky.  That’d be then: for now, she simply wanted to be alone, to rewind time, to pretend it wasn’t going to happen…