Just like when I was a kid, I was the buffer zone, the sacrificial lamb to keep her safe from him...

•Anyone taking his tea out to the garage at 8pm was liable to catch the brunt of his temper tantrum over the work going wrong - send me instead
•Anyone answering his jangling on the phone would get sucked into hours as a skivvie in the garage, bleeding brakes or holding welding panels - send me instead
•Whoever answered the door when she knew it was Ivor would wind up having to talk to him till dad arrived - send me instead
•Making him keep his promise to come to Parents' Evenings or tge School Play would lead to tantrums - disappoint me instead
•Admitting she drove my friend home from the party would end in a huge row - make me lie to him instead

•Being late back from visiting me would lead to him yelling that his tea was late - abandon me to the pain instead.

I should be used to it. I thought I was. But somewhere, deep inside, I guess I always thought there was a line; a limit, beyond which even she wouldn't pass. A point where she would finally think, 'OK, I can't palm this off on my daughter; I married him, it's my responsibility to deal with him'.

Apparently not.

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