Magenta McPhee Read Free Page B

what is causing his depression, Magenta, it’s lack of love. Look at it. When did your mum leave – about three, four years ago? Yes? She’s got Trib. Your dad has no one and he’s recently been retrenched from his job. He needs someone to love. He’s lost it all.’
    â€˜He’s got me,’ I said indignantly.
    â€˜You’re around no matter what,’ Polly said coolly, ‘you’re a given. That doesn’t mean you’re not important,’ she said quickly, catching my gaze, ‘just that you don’t necessarily alter the outcome.’
    â€˜Gee, thanks.’ I’d hoped she would catch the sarcasm in my tone, but she didn’t look up from the keyboard.
    â€˜Now we have to create his profile. You know, work out what makes him attractive to women.’
    â€˜I don’t know. That’s kind of disgusting, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Head out of the gutter, Magenta. It means, is he kindto animals? Does he love his children? That kind of thing.’
    â€˜I don’t like it and I don’t think he would either.’
    â€˜Well, what are you going to do then?’ Polly asked reasonably. ‘Wait until he’s a basket case and it’s too late, or strike while the iron is hot?’
    â€˜Okay,’ I said reluctantly, ‘what do we write?’
    â€˜You’re the writer,’ Polly said, ‘that’s your job.’
    â€˜You’re joking! How would I know what to write?’
    â€˜We’ll do some research,’ Polly said, sitting down in the computer chair. ‘It’s got to be simple, thousands and thousands of people do it.’
    Suddenly we were on an Internet dating site, watching photos of random people popping on to the screen. Some of them in couples with big smiles, others were single, but still smiling. ‘Meet Melissa or Joe or Bridie,’ the captions read. ‘Click here.’
    â€˜We do a search,’ Polly said, ‘for men your dad’s age.’
    â€˜This is tacky,’ I said, watching her fill in the details. ‘Really, Polly.’
    â€˜Are you calling my grandmother tacky?’ Polly was too busy typing to be really annoyed.
    â€˜No – us doing this is tacky.’
    She shrugged. ‘You won’t be saying that if we find your dad someone,’ she said.
    â€˜They all more or less say the same thing,’ I said, reading over her shoulder.
    â€˜Then it should be easy to write. You ready?’
    Actually, it was harder than we expected. Finally we decided that we’d be halfway honest and I’d write up Dad’s profile as though he’d asked me to.
    â€˜Decided to get my daughter to write this,’ I wrote, ‘after all, she’s known me for the longest time.’
    â€˜What about his mum?’ Polly said. ‘She’d have known him for longer.’
    â€˜She’s dead. Anyway, you wouldn’t want your mum filling in this kind of stuff,’ I said.
    â€˜Yeah, that’s true. What are you going to say?’
    â€˜Okay – how does this sound? My dad’s a terrific friend, always good in a crisis. He’s someone you can tell anything to because he really listens. He’s into important things like saving the planet and gardening. But why don’t you see for yourself and contact him? Do you think I should say something nasty about him so it sounds more real?’
    â€˜No, none of the others we’ve read have. I think it sounds great. Now, let’s fill in the rest. What kind of music does he like?’
    The rest was surprisingly difficult. For a start we just said old music and hoped that would work. I had to skip the book section altogether because I couldn’t remember anything Dad read, except books on World War Two and we both thought that would be against him.
    â€˜We can always go back and change it,’ Polly said, ‘when we do more research. Plus, we’ll need a photo