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Dean executed a U-turn across the coast road, and pointed the car towards home. He exhaled, feeling a little of the tension ease in his neck and shoulders. He reached up to unbutton his shirt. Dean had refused to wear a tie to the dinner party, even through Gemma had informed them several times that it was a formal dress code.

Dean glanced at Sandra, who was sitting straight-backed in the passenger seat, her phone gripped in both hands. He should have said something earlier, before they’d headed off, or before they’d agreed to go to the fundraiser. But expressing any hesitation in Gemma’s presence was met with resistance, and, like Sandra, he’d become used to simply going along with it.

‘You’ll have to tell her.’ There was a slight wobble in Sandra’s voice.

Dean cleared his throat. ‘Right. Hey Siri, call Gemma.’

Sandra leaned towards him, her face wearing an almost comical expression of panic. Dean turned his attention back to the road as the car stereo filled the cabin with the ringing tone. After six rings, Gemma’s voicemail message was heard.

‘Hi Gem, it’s Dad. We won’t be there tonight, but we hope all goes well with the fundraiser. Speak soon.’

Dean ended the call. Silence filled the car, and he relaxed a little more as they passed the ten kilometre signpost. He’d often complained about the mobile blackspot that stretched for about five kilometres from here, but tonight it was like a sanctuary. Even if Gemma called, it would have to wait until they were almost home before the signal was strong enough to let anything through.

‘She won’t be happy,’ Sandra’s voice was a little calmer, and Dean watched as she slid her mobile into her handbag.

‘How do you feel?’ Dean eased his foot on the accelerator, the sense of urgency finally abating.

Sandra shrugged. ‘Relieved, really. We would have been run off our feet all night, and being polite to countless strangers isn’t my idea of a good night out.’

Dean grinned. ‘Me neither. Why don’t we head to Oyster Cove and have fish and chips by the beach?’

Sandra laughed. ‘Dressed like this?’ She wriggled an arm at him, and the chiffon sleeve sparkled in the late afternoon sunshine.

‘Why not?’

They were both smiling as the car turned towards Oyster Cove. Dean turned some music on, and they sang together, both choosing to ignore the chimes of incoming messages on their phones.

This is the second of three prompts at a writing group session. Occasionally, we see if we can create a story using the same characters over a couple of prompts. As the prompts are random, this can be a challenge as the story shifts in different directions.

Photo: yarn-bombing spotted at Lane Cove, Sydney